This Idyllic Scene
by TrudiRose
Summary: Sequel to Picture This. Gaston and Belle have four kids: a practical tinkerer, a sensitive poet, a fiery tomboy, and a girl who dreams of being swept away by her own Prince Charming. Meanwhile, in a nearby castle, a young prince has problems of his own.
1. Teacher, Teacher

_Disclaimer: The Beauty and the Beast characters belong to Disney. The original characters are mine._

_Author's note: To new readers, welcome! To previous readers, welcome back! As promised, this is the sequel to my story "Picture This." If you haven't read that, just know that it's an AU story in which Gaston and Belle started out just like in the movie, but then things happened differently, and Gaston learned some lessons and got nicer, and Belle's perspective changed too, and they ended up falling in love and getting married. _

_Also know that there is no Beast here: in this alternate universe, the prince had a good childhood, and never became "spoiled, selfish and unkind," and was never cursed. He grew up to be a wise and good king, and fell in love with a princess and married her, and never met Belle. He didn't appear in "Picture This," but he and the castle inhabitants WILL figure in this story...but not for a while, probably chapter 8 or 9._

_Okay, on with the story!_

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On a sunny day at the end of September, in a one-room schoolhouse in the tiny village of Molyneaux, 45 children of varying ages sat attentively listening to their teacher. Previous generations of village children had suffered through school as a boring waste of time, but this group was luckier. Their teacher, Belle Avenant, was warm, friendly, and enthusiastic, especially about books and reading. She had such a talent for bringing stories and characters to life that even the most reluctant learners had to admit that school wasn't so bad after all.

Right now, Belle was saying "Now, it's time for a writing assignment." Some of the children looked interested, but others groaned. Belle laughed. "Come on, it's not _that _bad," she said, smiling. "This will be fun! I want you to write about what you love to do most in the world – your very favorite thing. Okay?" The complainers seemed mollified by that – if they had to write, at least it was on a topic that interested them. Belle always tried her best to make learning as enjoyable as possible.

A hand immediately went up. It belonged to Liliane, the youngest of Belle's own four children, who had just turned five. Lili was a sweet little girl with a sunny personality. With her honey-colored silken hair and sky-blue eyes, she always made Belle think of summer. This was her first year in school.

"I can't write yet," Lili said. "I only know a few letters. What should I do?"

"I'll help you, Lili," offered Denis, the six-year-old boy sitting next to her. He was the younger son of Gaston's friend LeFou, and he and Lili often played together. "I've been in school a whole _year _already! I can show you how to write!"

Belle smiled. "That's very kind and thoughtful of you, Denis, but I'd rather you work on your _own _writing. Besides, if you take over teaching the other children, I'll be out of a job!" The children laughed. Belle went on, "Lili, why don't you draw a picture? And then if you want, you can write something at the top as best you can."

Lili beamed. "I can do that!" Eagerly she sat back down and set to work, her brow furrowed in deep concentration.

Soon the scratching of quills was the only sound in the room. Belle looked over the classroom. Her two oldest children, 14-year-old Alain and 11-year-old Georges, were both writing diligently. Alain had black hair and brown eyes, Georges had brown hair and brown eyes, but they had both inherited their father's handsome looks.

Belle knew that Alain would complete the assignment without any problem. He was an ambitious, responsible boy who always applied himself to any task. He believed that if a thing was worth doing, it was worth doing well. Georges was a more imaginative, dreamy child – he took after Belle that way. But right now he was writing eagerly, because writing was his favorite activity next to reading. He loved the beauty and flow of words. Belle looked forward to reading their essays.

As Belle's eye moved over the room, her gaze landed on her third child, age nine. Her given name was Mireille, but she had always been known as Mimi. Bored and restless, she was staring out the window, ignoring the paper and quill in front of her. Her long black hair was tied back in a ponytail, and her piercing blue eyes – so like her father's – looked longingly at the sunny day outside. She was an active, athletic, outdoorsy child, and hated to sit still for long.

Belle walked over to her. "Mimi," she chided gently. "Please do your work now."

"But writing is so _boring!" _Mimi complained. "Do I have to?"

"Writing is important, Mimi. What if you need to write a list of things to buy, or things you need to do? Or write a note or a letter to someone?" Belle pointed out. "It also gives you a way to express yourself, and get your thoughts down on paper." Mimi looked unconvinced. "Come on, Mimi," Belle said encouragingly. "You can write about anything you want!"

Mimi scowled. "But I don't _want_ to write about anything!" she said stubbornly.

"Well, I'm sorry you feel that way, but you still have to do it," Belle said firmly.

"Fine," Mimi said, slumping in her chair. She took her quill and unenthusiastically scratched out a sentence. Then she went back to looking out the window.

It was almost 10:30, time for the brief daily recess. "All right, class, hand in your essays, and you can go play outside," Belle said. "Liliane, would you like to collect the papers?" The little girl beamed, thrilled to be given such an important responsibility. Drawing herself up to her full diminutive height, she walked among the rows of students, taking their papers, and gave them to her mother as the other children filed outside.

"Look at my picture!" she said eagerly, pointing at the scribbles she'd made. "This is a beautiful girl, and these are flowers, and this is a rainbow and a sun, and this is the handsome prince! He's coming to fall in love with the girl and take her to his castle and make her a princess! And this says 'princess' here." She pointed to the top, where she'd written "PRNS."

"That's a lovely picture, Lili," Belle said, smiling at the subject matter. Lili seemed to love fairy tales as much as her mother did.

"I wish that would happen to me!" Lili said. "If I was a princess, I would be pretty and dance all the time!" She twirled around with her hands above her head.

Belle laughed. "Well, you're pretty now, and you _already_ dance a lot of the time!" she pointed out. "It's a very nice picture, Lili. And thank you for bringing me the essays. Do you want to go out and play now?"

"Okay!" Lili ran outside, where the other children were playing.

Belle watched her go, then sat down to read over the essays. Alain's was written in neat, small handwriting. "_What I like most is to take things apart to see how they work, then put them back together. I like to fix things that are broken. My grandfather is a famous inventor, and he always shows me what he's working on, and teaches me how everything works. When I grow up, I want to own a shop where people bring me things that are broken and I can fix them."_

She smiled. Dear Alain had somehow managed to inherit all the positive traits of his relatives without the negatives. Like his father, he was ambitious and determined; if he wanted something, he persevered until he achieved it. Yet unlike Gaston, Alain was unfailingly patient, practical and even-tempered. He never plunged impulsively into things. He sized up the situation, figured out the best way to achieve his goals, and then worked hard, step by step, to get them. He stood up for himself when necessary, but he wasn't aggressive or a bully.

Alain had also inherited his mother's keen intelligence, and his grandfather's talent and interest in building contraptions and understanding how things worked. He was a whiz at fixing things that were broken. But he didn't have Maurice's eccentricity, or Belle's tendency to daydream.

He wasn't as interested in fairy tales or imagination as his siblings; he was too practical and focused on the real world for that. But that was all right. Belle didn't expect all her children to share her own interests. Alain was a smart, responsible boy with his feet on the ground, and Belle knew that he would be successful at whatever he decided to do.

She turned to Georges' essay. _"My favorite activity is reading. Books are magical: they can take you to other places and give you wonderful adventures. If it's an especially good book, the words just seem to flow, and they sound so beautiful. The words create amazing pictures in your mind and make you feel like you're actually there in the story. I like to write stories and poems too – I hope I can make them as good as the books I read!"_

Belle smiled fondly. Since becoming the village schoolteacher 16 years earlier, she had made a point of trying to instill her own love of books in her students. As a result, many of the town's children and young adults liked reading. But Georges was special. He _loved _books, so much so that he read constantly, and tried to write stories and poems of his own. He loved to discuss books in depth with Belle, and this created a special bond between them. Even when he was doing his chores, Belle would often see him daydreaming, and she knew that his mind was off in whatever story he was currently reading. He reminded her so much of herself as a child.

She put Georges' essay aside and picked up Mimi's paper. She had written only one sentence: _"I lik horsis." _Belle sighed, feeling frustrated. Mimi had so much potential, and she had many admirable qualities: she was brave and spirited and independent, and had a strong sense of herself. But she had no interest at all in reading and writing. If only she weren't so headstrong and rebellious, and focused more on her schoolwork… She was smart enough, and Belle _knew _she could do well in school if she would just make the effort, but she just didn't seem to care! Horseback riding and athletic activities were all fine and good, but Belle wished she could make her daughter understand that school was important too.

She looked at the sentence again. It was almost impossible to get Mimi to write anything at all; asking her to spell correctly was probably a lost cause. But as her mother and teacher, Belle had to try. She crossed out the sentence and wrote "I like horses" over it, then put it aside and went on to the other students' essays.

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When her mother had told the class they could go outside, Mimi was the first one out the door. She burst through the doorway and immediately raced at full speed across the meadow behind the school, reveling in the sensation of freedom and the wind in her face. It felt _so_ good to be outside after being cooped up in the stuffy, dull schoolhouse, being told to sit still and concentrate on her work.

Lili went to play "Ring Around the Rosy" with Denis and two other young children, while Alain and some of the older boys went to toss a ball around. Georges was about to sit under a tree and read – he was at an exciting part of his current book, and couldn't wait to see what would happen next – but Henri, LeFou's older son, called to him. "Georges, come on! Aren't you going to play ball with us?"

"Yeah, come on!" added another boy.

Georges hesitated. He _was _eager to read his book…but his friends wanted him to play with them, and they would be disappointed if he refused. Georges liked to make people happy; he never wanted to disappoint anyone. He could always read when he got home, he decided. "Coming!" he called back, and ran over to join them.

Mimi ran around the meadow several times, swift as a young deer, working off her excess energy. Then she loped over to see what the young boys her age were doing. They were talking with a new kid, a dark-haired, burly boy named Luc, who had just moved to the village the day before.

"Yeah, I _am_ pretty strong," Luc was saying. "I bet I can beat anyone here at arm wrestling!"

"Oh, yeah? I bet _I_ can beat you!" Mimi said eagerly. She loved any kind of physical contest.

Luc stared at her. _"You?"_ he scoffed. "Girls can't arm wrestle!"

"Yes, they can!" Mimi said, offended.

"No, they can't," Luc insisted firmly. He looked derisively at the other boys. "You guys let _girls _play with you?" he sneered.

The boys looked at each other. "Mimi's all right," said a boy named Eriq, shrugging. He was the son of Belle's friend Monique, and had spent much of his childhood playing with Mimi and her brothers. "She's not like a regular girl."

Luc spat on the ground. "Well, _I_ don't play with any dumb girls," he announced. He looked at Mimi scornfully. "So stop being a pest, and leave us boys alone. Run along and play with the other girls. Go make some daisy chains or something." He snickered and turned away.

Mimi's fists clenched. "I'll bet you I _can _beat you in arm wrestling! Or are you too chicken to find out?" The boys all perked up at the challenge. They watched with interest to see what would happen.

Luc stopped. "I'm not afraid of any dumb girl!"

"So prove it!" Mimi challenged.

"Fine. I will," Luc sneered. "But don't start crying like a baby when I beat you!" He looked around, and noticed a tree stump nearby. "There. That'll do."

Mimi nodded. They knelt on opposite sides of the stump. Other kids saw what was happening and gathered around with interest to watch too. They all exchanged knowing looks. Luc was the new kid; he didn't know that Mimi wasn't just some weak little girl. But on the other hand, Luc looked pretty strong too. They were curious to see what the outcome would be. Soon there was a small crowd around the two contestants.

Luc saw the audience and grinned. "This girl thinks she can beat _me!_ I'm gonna show her that boys are the best!" he said to the newcomers.

"We'll see about that!" Mimi said, glaring at him.

They each put one elbow on the stump, and clasped hands. "One, two, three – GO!" said Eriq.

Mimi started pushing against Luc's grip. He was a lot stronger than she had expected. Despite her efforts, he slowly began to push her hand toward the stump. She glanced at him, and saw him smirking at her. "Told ya so! Boys are _always_ better than girls," he taunted.

Mimi got angry. Oh, she'd show him! She bit her lip in determination, pushing back with every bit of strength she had in her. Gradually, her hand began to come up. Gritting her teeth, her hair damp with sweat, Mimi kept pushing his hand down inexorably, fighting for every inch, until, finally, it touched the stump.

"I win!" she crowed, jumping up, thrilled with her victory.

Luc scowled. "No, you didn't! You _cheated!"_ There was no way on earth he was going to admit that a girl had beaten him. It was too humiliating.

Mimi stared at him in disbelief, outraged at the sheer injustice of it. "I did not!"

"Yes, you did!" Luc lied. "You picked your elbow up. You knew you could _never _beat me, so you cheated. Like I said, you're just a stupid girl." Seeing that she was upset, he grinned. "What are you gonna do now, start crying like a baby?" he taunted, expecting her to burst into tears.

Enraged, Mimi hauled off and punched him in the nose as hard as she could. Stunned, Luc staggered back, his hand flying to his nose. "You're crazy!" he yelled. "I'm gonna tell the teacher!" He ran toward the schoolhouse, followed eagerly by the other children, who were enjoying the excitement.

Alain and Georges came running up. When they'd heard the angry voices, they had immediately left their game and hurried over, but were too late to intervene. Alain shook his head. "Ah, Mimi – getting in trouble again?"

Mimi crossed her arms defiantly. "It was _his _fault."

"Yeah, it always is," Alain said. He patted his sister's shoulder. "Come on, sis, let's go inside. I'm sure Ma's gonna want to talk to you."

Inside the schoolhouse, all the kids were talking at once. "Mimi hit Luc!" "Punched him right in the nose!"

"Oh, dear," Belle said. "Are you all right, Luc?" She dipped a rag in a bucket of cold water and held it to his nose for a minute or two.

"That girl is _crazy!" _Luc announced.

"You started it!" Mimi protested. She turned to her mother. "He was teasing me! First he said girls were dumb and couldn't play…then he said I cheated, but I didn't!"

Belle held up her hands. "Enough. I'm _not_ going to allow any fighting at my school, period. Mimi, hitting is _not _acceptable. Apologize to Luc."

Mimi stared at her. "Do I have to?"

"Yes."

Mimi stuck out her lower lip. "Fine. I'm sorry," she mumbled, rolling her eyes.

"All right," Belle said. "And after school, you're going to write 'I will not hit people' 10 times. Now sit down." Mimi sat down glumly.

Luc snickered. Belle turned to him. "And Luc, I want _you _to apologize to Mimi for teasing her."

Luc was outraged. "I won't!"

Belle looked at him sternly. "Yes, you will," she said, quietly but authoritatively.

Luc backed down. "Sorry for teasing you," he said ungraciously.

"Thank you," Belle said. "Luc, Mimi's getting the punishment because hitting is a more serious offense than teasing. But teasing is not acceptable in my school either. Now, if your nose is feeling better, you can sit down." Luc did.

Belle turned to the class. "Now, all of you: listen to me." Her voice was serious as she looked around the room. "Fighting and name-calling are _not_ the best ways to solve problems. If you don't like what someone is doing, _talk _to the person. Try to understand his or her point of view, and try to work it out peacefully. Treat people the way _you _would like to be treated: with kindness and respect. You're all intelligent people, and I know you can do it. Okay?"

They nodded.

"Good," Belle said. Seeing the tension in the room, she smiled and added in a lighter tone, "Now, it's time for math. Who wants to play a math game?" The children perked up and raised their hands. "Great! Eriq, will you please get the dominoes and the counters?"

"Sure, Madame Avenant," Eriq replied, going to get the supplies. The children eagerly got ready to play the game, and Belle smiled, pleased at their enthusiasm.

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When school was over, Belle said to Alain and Georges, "Would you bring Lili home and watch her for a few minutes? I need to take Luc home and tell his mother what happened. Mimi will come with me."

"Sure, Ma," Alain said.

"Come on, Lili," Georges said, taking his little sister's hand.

"Thanks, boys," Belle said. "Come on, Luc, Mimi." The two children followed her, making faces at each other behind her back.

At Luc's house, Belle knocked on the door. Luc's mother, a fussy, pinched-looking woman, answered it.

"Good afternoon, Madame Grognon," Belle said. "I'm Belle Avenant, the village schoolmistress. I'm afraid there was a bit of an incident today. Luc got punched in the nose." She gestured the boy to come forward. "I'm very sorry about that – it happened at recess when the children were playing outside."

"Oh, dear!" said Madame Grognon. "My poor Luc! And on your first day at school!" She looked at her son worriedly. "Are you all right, dearest?"

"Yeah, Ma," Luc said indifferently.

Madame Grognon shook her head and looked sternly at Belle. "I know boys will be boys, but still, you really should keep better control of your pupils, Madame Avenant!"

"As I said, it happened at recess," Belle said. "But again, I do sincerely apologize that this happened. I was very upset about it myself. I explained to all the children that fighting will not be tolerated, and my Mimi's being punished for it." She gestured at Mimi, who stood by, pouting defiantly.

Madame Grognon's eyes widened in disbelief. "A _girl _punched my Luc in the nose?" Her brows drew together disapprovingly and she glared at Mimi, leaning forward to loom over her. "Little girl, you should be _ashamed_ of yourself, acting like a common ruffian! Little girls should be sweet and modest at all times!" She was growing red with outrage. "What is this world coming to? A little girl _punching _people! Why, I've never heard of such a thing in all my born days!"

Belle stepped in front of Mimi protectively. "As I said, she's already been reprimanded," Belle said firmly. She wasn't about to have a total stranger scolding her child. "And I must also tell you, it wasn't unprovoked. Luc was teasing her. I realize that doesn't justify hitting, but even so, Luc wasn't completely innocent in all of this."

Madame Grognon shook her head impatiently. "Oh, for heaven's sake! So a boy was teasing a girl. That's what boys do! It's hardly anything to get upset over."

"I think it is," Belle protested. "I feel that it's important for _all _the children – girls _and _boys – to learn to treat each other with kindness and respect. That's what I'm trying to teach them."

"Well, you're not doing a very good job with this one, are you?" Madame Grognon sneered, pointing at Mimi.

Belle gritted her teeth, trying to keep a lid on her own anger. "Mimi lost her temper, but she's a good girl, and I will _not _allow you to insult her," she said firmly. "Besides, I don't think being rude sets a very good example for the children, do you?"

Madame Grognon sniffed and looked Belle up and down with a critical eye. "I must say, I don't at _all_ approve of the idea of a woman schoolteacher," she said stiffly. "It's a recipe for trouble, if you ask me. Men are the ones who should do all the thinking and learning – _they_ have the knowledge to teach the children, and they can keep order in the classroom, too. Women are meant to take care of home and family. I can't imaginewhat the town council here was thinking when they put a woman in charge of the school! And a _married _woman with children, no less!" She shook her head. "I can tell you, I was quite scandalized when I heard that! I can't begin to imagine what your poor husband must go through, with a wife who's off teaching school instead of home taking care of her family where she belongs. No wonder your children are running wild!"

"My children are _not_ 'running wild,'" Belle snapped. She was seething, though she was trying very hard to stay civilized. "And I'm fortunate enough to have a husband who is _proud _to have a wife who is intelligent and has a mind of her own. As for the town council, they very wisely decided to choose the person best suited for the job, regardless of whether it was a man or woman. I think they are to be commended for that."

"Well, that's a matter of opinion," Madame Grognon sniffed.

Incensed, Belle decided she'd better leave before she said something she'd regret. "Be that as it may, that's the way it is," she said firmly. "And now, I need to get home. Again, I apologize for what happened to Luc, and I'll do everything in my power to make sure it doesn't happen again. And I'd appreciate it if you'd talk to him about not teasing other children. Good day." With that, she turned and left, pulling Mimi along with her.

"The nerve of that woman!" Belle muttered under her breath when they were out of earshot.

"You _see?_" Mimi insisted. "And Luc is just like her! That's why I hit him!"

Belle paused a moment to figure out what to say. She could certainly sympathize with Mimi's anger now, especially after dealing with Luc's mother, but she didn't want Mimi to think that that meant fighting was now acceptable. The last thing she needed was a repeat of today's performance. She decided to set a good example in the hope that her daughter would learn from it. "Luc's mother _did_ make me very angry," she began. "But did you see how I handled it, Mimi? As angry as I was, I stayed calm. I didn't _hit _her."

"Maybe you should have," Mimi muttered.

Belle suppressed a smile. "It's tempting, but no," she said. "Look, Mimi, it's okay to get angry – everyone does. But you just can't go around _hitting _people. You have to learn to control your temper."

"But Mama, Luc was being mean to me! I _had _to hit him!" Mimi protested. "He said I'm a stupid girl, and he wouldn't let me play! And he said girls can't do any of the things boys can do. And then when I beat him at arm wrestling, he said I cheated! And I _didn't!_"

Belle put her arm around her daughter. "That _was _a mean thing to say, and I don't blame you at all for being mad. I'd be mad too! But that didn't give you the right to punch him."

"You just don't know what it's like!" Mimi complained. "Everyone likes you! No one _ever _teases you or tells you that you can't do something!"

"You think so?" Belle said, raising an eyebrow. "I'll tell you something. When I first came to this village, all the people here thought that girls shouldn't read – that it was a very strange thing for a girl to do. I remember one day, your f-…" She broke off and amended quickly, "I mean… a boy I knew pulled my book right out of my hand and threw it in the mud! He told me that girls shouldn't read, or even _think._ I was _so_ mad!"

Mimi looked interested. "Yeah? What did you do?"

Belle thought back. "Well…uh…I picked up my book and cleaned it off," she admitted. Maybe this hadn't been the best example to pick, she realized ruefully.

Mimi was disappointed. "That's _all?_ Didn't you tell him you were mad?"

"Well…I told him he was primeval," Belle offered.

"What did he say?" Mimi asked.

"He didn't know what it meant," Belle said sheepishly.

Mimi looked disgusted. "So, he threw your book in the mud and said something mean to you, and you didn't do _anything?_ Just acted polite?" She shook her head. "You know what _I_ would have done? I'd have yelled 'GIVE ME MY BOOK BACK, YOU BIG APE!' And then kicked him in the shin!"

Belle had to laugh. "I'm sure you would have," she said in amusement. She smiled. "Listen, Mimi. I actually think you're right: I _should _have spoken up right then and there and told him straight out that I didn't like what he was doing. Later on, I did, and it made a big difference in how he treated me." She knelt in front of Mimi and looked her in the eyes. "Believe me, I'm _glad_ that you stand up for yourself and don't let people push you around. I'm very proud of you for that. Just try to stand up for yourself with words, _not_ fists. All right?"

"All right," Mimi said reluctantly.

"Good," Belle said, standing up. She patted her daughter's shoulder reassuringly. "Now, let's go home and have lunch." She put her arm around Mimi, and they headed for home.


	2. Afterschool Activities

_Author's note: Thanks so much for the reviews! I'm so glad people like it so far! Now, I have to apologize: Gaston actually doesn't show up till chapter 4. I know, it's weird, but somehow this "first day" of the story came out so long, it spread out over four chapters! Sorry about that! But be patient, he'll make his entrance soon enough. :)_

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As they entered the house, Alain came up to them. "Ma, can I go see Grandpa?"

Belle laughed. "You've certainly been spending a lot of time over there! But don't you want to have lunch first?"

"Nah, I'll have a snack at Grandpa's," Alain said, already heading out the door.

"Be back in time for dinner!" Belle called after him.

Lili tugged at Belle's skirt. "Mama, can you tell me a story?"

"Not right now, sweetheart," Belle said. "I have to make lunch. Maybe later, okay?"

"I'll tell you a story, sis," Georges offered.

His little sister's face lit up, just as Georges had known it would. "Ooh, really? A story like my picture, with a beautiful girl and a prince and a castle?"

Georges smiled. "Sure." It was so easy to make Lili happy. It gave Georges a good feeling.

"Thank you, Georges, you're a good brother," Belle said, smiling. She liked to see her children getting along. She went into the kitchen to make lunch.

Georges settled on the couch with Lili. Mimi, idly whittling a stick nearby, listened too. "Okay. Once upon a time there was a girl named Liliane," he began.

Lili was delighted to be in the story. "And she was beautiful, right?"

"Of course!" Georges said, grinning. "She was beautiful, and kind, and sang like an angel. But her parents were very poor, so they didn't have enough to eat, and she had to wear rags all the time."

"Oh, that's so sad!" said Lili. She bounced up and down, eager to know what happened next. This was her very favorite kind of story. "Keep going!"

"She decided that instead of being a burden on her parents, she would go out and work to earn money to help her family," Georges went on. "She walked and walked until she came to a castle, and asked for work. They hired her as a scullery maid. She spent her days working very hard, peeling potatoes and scrubbing floors, but she never ever complained. She was just happy to know that she was helping to support her old parents. But then, one day, when she was out picking herbs for the kitchen, the handsome prince rode by and saw her. He stopped in amazement. He had never seen anyone so lovely…"

Lili was enraptured. Mimi, on the other hand, lost interest immediately. Another stupid girl getting swept away by some stupid prince. Boring! She went into the kitchen, where her mother was chopping carrots for a stew.

"Can I go ride my horse?" she asked.

"Wait till your father comes home," Belle said. She pushed aside the pile of chopped carrots and began cutting up celery. "I'm sure he'll be happy to take you out riding."

Mimi scowled. Sometimes it felt like she spent her whole life having to wait for what she wanted. "But I want to go _now!" _she insisted, stamping her foot.

"Mimi, you _know _perfectly well you can't go out on your own yet," Belle said patiently. "You've only been riding for a few months! You need your father to supervise and make sure you don't get hurt."

"But Papa says I'm a natural!" Mimi protested. "He says I ride a horse like I was _born_ to do it!"

"I'm sure he does," Belle said, pouring water from a bucket into a cooking pot. She hung the pot over the fire. "But you're still not going out alone yet. It's not safe. Papa will be home in just a few hours; you can wait till then."

"But that's so _long!"_ Mimi complained.

Belle thought, not for the first time, how fitting it was that her daughter had a name that sounded like "Me! Me!" She was easily as self-centered as her father had been in his younger days. "I'm sorry, Mimi, but that's how it is. You'll just have to wait. Besides, you still have those sentences to write for me."

"Do I have to do that _now?"_ Mimi asked, pouting.

"You might as well," Belle pointed out. "It'll pass the time while you're waiting for Papa. Besides, you didn't even give me a real essay today. You could use some practice with your writing."

Grumpily, Mimi got a quill, inkwell and paper, sat down at the table, and slowly began to scratch out "I WIL NOT HIT PEEPL." It was torture. She looked longingly out the window. It was such a beautiful sunny day – she should be out riding her horse. Instead, she was stuck inside _writing. _Mama was so mean sometimes!

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Alain crossed the bridge that led to his grandfather's house. He patted the horse grazing in the yard. "Hi, Philippe!" The old horse whinnied in response.

Alain bypassed the house and went instead directly to the workshop behind it. He knew that that was where his grandfather was most likely to be found. Over the years, Maurice's success as an inventor had allowed him to expand beyond the cottage's tiny cellar. Several years earlier, he had had this separate workshop built, large enough to hold all his inventions and projects. It was Alain's favorite place to be.

He didn't bother knocking, knowing from experience that when Grandpa was absorbed in a project, he wouldn't notice if a herd of elephants was pounding down the door. Instead, he simply opened the door and went in.

Maurice was sitting at the large worktable with an odd contraption in front of him. He was trying to place a tiny cog in the right spot, but it slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor. "Blast it!" He bent down and tried to feel under the table for it, but then bumped his head against the underside of the table. "Ow!" he said, sitting on the floor and rubbing his head.

"Hi, Grandpa!" Alain said.

Maurice looked up, and his wrinkled face creased into a broad smile. "Alain! Good to see you, my boy!"

Alain grinned. "Can I help you, Grandpa?"

"You certainly can!" Maurice said, getting out from under the table. "Can you find that cog for me? I'm afraid my eyesight isn't as good as it used to be."

"Sure, Grandpa." Alain scurried under the table, found the cog, and held it up.

"Thank you, Alain. Here, this is where it goes." He pointed, and Alain put the cog in place.

"What are you working on, Grandpa?" Alain asked curiously.

"It's my latest invention. It's a device that tests your food as it's cooking, and lets you know when it's done by ringing a bell. See?" He pointed to the bell. "No more burned food! It will always be perfect."

"That's smart, Grandpa!" Alain said admiringly. His grandfather was such a brilliant man.

Maurice sighed. "The only problem is…it's not working. I've been working on it all day, but I just _can't_ seem to get it right! It's driving me crazy! Here, I'll show you." He reached over to a container on the table and pulled out a small piece of meat. "This piece of meat is almost cooked. Now, watch." In the bottom of a metal container connected to the device, he lit a tiny fire. He attached the sensor to the meat, then pushed a sharp stick through the meat and balanced it over the fire.

"It should be perfectly cooked very soon," he explained. Alain watched with interest.

After a minute or two, the sensor glowed red. The contraption began to whir, the wheels and cogs spinning, but the bell didn't ring.

"See? It's all attached correctly, the string is connected to the bell," Maurice said. "It _should_ work, blast it!" He kicked the table in his frustration.

Alain studied the contraption for a few minutes. Then his eyes widened in realization. "Oh! Here it is, Grandpa!" he said eagerly, pointing. "This gear here doesn't fit quite right with the one next to it. It all works fine up to that part, but then it gets jammed. See? You need a smaller gear – then they'll mesh together and turn better, so the string will ring the bell."

Maurice peered closely at the gear in question. "My word, you're _right!"_ He clapped Alain on the back. "Well done, my boy! You always had a good eye!"

"Thanks, Grandpa," Alain said, pleased.

Maurice walked over to a shelf and took down a box full of springs, screws, cogs, and nails of all sizes. He rummaged inside it and found a new gear. "Think this one will work?"

"Let's find out!" Alain said enthusiastically.

Maurice held out the gear to him. "Here, Alain – you do the honors. You figured out what was wrong, after all."

Alain removed the old gear and fitted the new one in place. Maurice put a new piece of meat over the fire. They waited with bated breath.

After a minute, the sensor glowed red, the cogs and wheels whirred and spun…but this time, the final set of gears turned smoothly, pulled the string and rang the bell.

"Eureka! It works!" cried Maurice.

"You did it, Grandpa!" Alain said happily, hugging his grandfather in his excitement.

_"We _did it, Maurice corrected. "I couldn't have done it without your help!" He smiled at Alain. "But now…I'll bet I know why you came today. You want to get back to our secret project, right?"

Alain smiled shyly. "Only if you have time, Grandpa. I know how busy you are."

"For you, I always have time," Maurice assured him with a grin. He often felt that these visits from his grandson were what kept him young and a spring in his step. "Tell you what – let's work on that for a while, and then we'll have some lunch. Sound good?"

"Sure, Grandpa!" said Alain.

They headed to the smaller worktable to do some tinkering – the most satisfying way either of them could think of to spend an afternoon.

O o o o o o o o o oo o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o oo o o o o

Georges had finished telling the story, and Lili had gone off to play with her dolls. Now Georges could finally get back to the book he had been reading. He couldn't wait. He fetched the book and settled on the couch with a feeling of anticipation. Soon the room around him faded away and he was deep in the world of Camelot, a world of knights and royalty and adventure.

_"Knowing not that this was indeed the legendary sword called Excalibur, Arthur tried to pull it from the stone. He tried once to no avail. He tried a second time, but still, he could not pull it out. Then, the third time, Arthur drew forth the sword, and there arose from the people a great shout: 'Arthur is King!'"_

Georges finished the chapter and closed the book with a satisfied sigh. It was so exciting and so inspiring: a young boy, unimportant and insignificant, surrounded by all those powerful and impressive knights who had tried and failed to remove the sword…yet this seemingly ordinary boy had the potential for greatness within him, and was destined to become a legendary king.

A movement caught his eye. It was a butterfly hovering outside the window. Georges took a moment to admire it. Such a beautiful creature, yet it too came from humble beginnings, he thought.

Then he had an inspiration. He went and got some paper and a quill, then sat at the table, where Mimi had finally finished her sentences. "Can I use the inkwell?" he asked her.

"Sure, I'm done," she said.

Georges dipped his quill in the ink and eagerly began writing. Mimi rolled her eyes. Georges was crazy, she thought. He actually _wanted _to write when he didn't even have to! She got up and brought her paper over to Belle. "Here, Mama, I finished."

"Oh, good, let me see." Belle wiped her hands on her apron and took the paper from Mimi. On it was written "I WIL NOT HIT PEEPL" ten times.

Belle was about to point out the spelling errors, but she stopped herself. Mimi had been corrected enough times today – the last thing she needed was to be discouraged yet again. Besides, even though she hated writing, she had done as Belle asked, without _too _much grumbling. She deserved praise and positive reinforcement for that.

So instead Belle just hugged her and said warmly, "Thank you, Mimi. I appreciate your doing what I told you to do. I know it wasn't fun for you. And I see that your handwriting is getting a lot better, too!"

She was rewarded with a surprised smile from her daughter. "Thanks!" Mimi said. She hadn't expected a compliment.

Belle smiled back. It was nice to have a moment of peace and harmony. "See? When you apply yourself, you can do very well!" she said, patting Mimi's shoulder. "Now, let's have lunch." She brought the pot of stew, a bowl of fruit, some cheese, and a loaf of bread over to the table.

George quickly moved his papers and inkwell out of the way to make room. "Mama, look!" he told Belle. "I wrote a new poem!" He picked up the poem and held it out to her.

"Oh, let me see!" Belle took the paper and read aloud:

"The caterpillar crawls from day to day, slow and wormlike, unremarkable,  
As so many of us do.  
Yet it carries within it the miracle of transformation.  
Emerging from its chrysalis, it unfurls translucent rainbow-hued wings, revealing a creature of unearthly beauty.  
No longer earthbound, it floats heavenward, light as gossamer, as the sunshine smiles approvingly from above.  
So we, too, have the ability to grow, to learn, to rise above our humble origins,  
If we but have the courage to seize the chance."

Belle stared at Georges in amazement. "Why, Georges…this is _beautiful_! I can't believe what a talented writer you are! Even for an adult, this would be a wonderful poem. But from an 11-year-old…It's incredible, really." She kissed the top of his head. "Thank you so much for sharing it with me."

Georges smiled shyly, pleased. "I'm glad you like it."

"I _love_ it," Belle told him. She went into the kitchen to get a jug of water.

"Show-off," Mimi muttered darkly under her breath.

Georges heard, and immediately felt remorseful. He shouldn't have picked that moment to show his poem, right after Mimi had finished writing her few meager sentences. He hadn't meant to steal her thunder.

He thought for a moment. "You know, Mimi, I meant to tell you…I saw you riding with Papa yesterday."

"So?" Mimi said petulantly.

"Well, I just have to say, Papa's right – you have a real talent for it!" Georges said admiringly. "When _I _first started riding, I had so much trouble just keeping my balance. I even fell off a few times! And I couldn't get the horse to do what I wanted. But you…you've only been riding a couple of months, but you look like you've been riding forever! You just look so natural, and so in control, like the horse is part of you."

Mimi grinned despite herself. "I _am _good at it, aren't I?"

"You sure are!" Georges said. "I'd say you're already as good as me, and I've been riding for two whole years!"

"Thanks," Mimi said, pleased.

"It's true," said Belle, entering and putting the pitcher of water on the table, having overheard Georges' compliment. "I've never seen a child take to riding so quickly!"

Mimi preened, enjoying the praise.

After lunch, she asked Belle, "How long before Papa gets home?" She felt like she'd been waiting _years _to go riding.

"Another two hours or so," Belle replied.

Mimi let out a long-suffering sigh. Two whole hours…This day would _never _end!

Belle looked at her sympathetically. She knew it was hard for Mimi to wait. She tried to think of a distraction. "I have an idea," she suggested. "Why don't you go groom Tempête while you're waiting? Then he'll be all ready to go the second Papa gets home!"

Mimi brightened. "That's a _great_ idea! I'll go do it right now. Papa will be so impressed when he sees how shiny and nice Tempête looks!"

"He certainly will!" Belle agreed, smiling.

Mimi went outside. It was a gorgeous sunny day. She headed to the small family stable behind the house, where her horse whinnied a greeting from his stall. Mimi picked up a curry brush and began brushing the horse's glossy black coat. "I wish we could go riding right now, Tempête! It's such a perfect day for it. And I _know _we'd be fine. I've been riding you for months now with no problem. I don't know what Mama is so worried about. Why do we have to wait so long?"

She suddenly paused as a thought struck her. "You know, Tempête…Mama's busy in the house right now…I bet we could go for just a _little _ride, and get back without her even knowing!" Her eyes gleamed with excitement at the thought. "What do you think? Just for a few minutes? I bet you'd like that too, wouldn't you?" It seemed to her that Tempête looked just as eager at the idea as she was. Mimi grinned. "Okay then! We'll do it! But don't tell Mama, okay?"

Quickly she went to the tack room and took Tempête's bridle and saddle off the hooks on the wall. She went back to his stall and saddled him up, then carefully led him out of the stall. She put her foot in the stirrup and swung herself over onto the horse's back.

Then she paused to consider. Her father usually had Mimi practice her riding in the paddock…but that was visible from the house. If her mother looked out the window, Mimi would get caught for sure. Besides, she thought, getting excited, how much more fun it would be to ride through town - maybe even into the _woods! _

"Come on, Tempête!" Mimi said eagerly. "Let's have an adventure!" She clucked her tongue, and they started off.


	3. Mimi's Wild Ride

Mimi felt a thrill go through her as she turned Tempête toward the road. She knew her parents would be mad if they knew what she was doing, but it was just so exciting to be out on her own!

Her father always gave her riding lessons in the paddock - she had never ridden outside on her own horse. The whole family almost always took a ride through the village after dinner, but even then Mimi and Lili had to ride with their parents on _their_ horses, while the boys rode on their own. But Gaston had promised Mimi that since she was learning so fast and doing so well, very soon she would be allowed to ride her own horse when the family went out on their evening rides. Mimi couldn't wait.

But now…she didn't_ have_ to wait! She was on her own, free to do whatever she liked! She felt giddy at the thought.

As she and Tempête made their way through the village, she could see other kids watching with admiration and envy. She sat tall and proud in the saddle and waved to everyone, loving the attention.

She noticed that some grown-ups were watching her, too. _Uh-oh,_ she thought. What if one of the grown-ups told her parents? Then she would be in big trouble. But she pushed the thought away. After all, Papa _did _say he was going to let her ride outside the paddock soon anyway…so, it was just happening a little sooner than expected, that's all. It wasn't _so _bad.

In fact…her eyes suddenly widened at an exciting new thought. Maybe the grown-ups would tell her father what a fantastic rider she was, how she'd handled the horse just as good as a grown-up could, and he would be so impressed that he'd let her ride on her own _all _the time!

Inspired by this thought, she decided to show off a little. Let them see something great, something that would _really_ impress them! She squeezed the horse's sides with her legs a little, giving him the signal as she clucked her tongue, and he broke into a trot, and then a canter. Oh, this was wonderful! It felt glorious to ride through the town on her very own horse, the breeze blowing her hair back, everyone watching and surely admiring her! She was so glad she'd decided to do this!

Exhilarated, she urged the horse faster. "Come on, Tempête! Let's have some real fun!" She squeezed her legs tighter and tapped his rump with her crop. He responded, breaking into a full gallop. Mimi laughed with joy as they thundered through town at breakneck speed. It was heavenly! She decided to head for the woods – that would be even more fun.

As they approached the edge of town, she saw Luc's mother, Madame Grognon, crossing the road, her arms full of bundles from shopping. Hearing the pounding hoofbeats, she looked up, and her eyes widened in alarm. She was right in the horse's path. They were going to crash into her!

Panicked, Mimi yanked back on the reins as hard as she could, trying to stop the horse, her arms aching with the effort. The sudden hard jerk made Tempête stumble and almost lose his balance. But he was going much too fast to stop. He only slowed a little bit.

The slight slowing bought Madame Grognon a few extra seconds, however. With a shriek, she jumped out of the way, dropping her packages.

"Sorry!" Mimi yelled over her shoulder as they sped past, momentum carrying them forward. It was all she could do. Within seconds, the woman was far behind them.

_Darn,_ Mimi thought. One more reason for Madame Grognon to hate her. _But I TRIED to stop, _she told herself. _If I hadn't pulled so hard on the reins, the horse would have hit her for sure! I SAVED her, really. _Not that Madame Grognon would thank her for it.

Anyway, there was nothing she could do about it now. She put Madame Grognon out of her mind and turned her attention back to her ride.

Into the woods! The horse slowed down as they passed through the trees. Mimi was filled with excitement just to be here. This was where her brave papa spent his days hunting and having thrilling adventures. Once in these very woods, he'd gone up against a ferocious grizzly bear! Another time he'd fought off a whole pack of wolves, all by himself! She loved to hear all her father's stories of the amazing things he'd done.

If only she had more time…she would have loved to spend the whole day exploring the forest and maybe even having an adventure of her own! _Maybe I can get Papa to take me one day, _she thought.

But now, she should be getting back home, before Mama noticed she was gone.

She was about to turn the horse around when she noticed a brook up ahead. Her eyes lit up. Wouldn't it be exciting to _jump _over the brook? One last fun thing before heading back! Her father hadn't taught her jumping yet, but she was sure she could do it After all, she was a natural!

"Come on, Tempête! Let's do it!" She urged the horse into a gallop again, and they thundered toward the brook. As they approached it, Tempête tried to turn to the side, but Mimi pulled the reins to steer him forward. With no other choice, he jumped.

Mimi squealed with delight as they sailed through the air…but then, as the horse shifted position for the landing, she felt herself slipping, losing her balance. The reins jerked right out of her hands. She grabbed for them, but felt only air.

Then, with a sickening sensation, she was falling. She gasped as she caught a terrifying glimpse of sharp, jagged rocks on the edge of the brook.

It all happened so fast. The next thing she knew, she had landed hard with a huge splash in the brook, mercifully missing the rocks, but sinking into the mud at the bottom.

She was stunned for a moment, but managed to drag herself up and out of the brook, her clothes heavy and dripping with mud and water. Her back and leg hurt where she'd landed. She saw Tempête on the other side of the brook, looking at her curiously. "Thanks a lot," she told him grumpily.

She tried to stand up. "Ow!" She winced as a sudden pain in her ankle make her sit down again. Slowly and carefully this time, she stood up again and gingerly tried to put some weight on the foot. It hurt, but she thought she could walk on it. She managed to get over to Tempête and take his reins.

Slowly she started limping towards home, leading the horse. She was soaking wet and muddy. _There's no way Mama's not going to notice this, _she thought glumly. Maybe it was just as well that she had to walk slowly. She wasn't looking forward to what Mama would say when she got home.

O o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

Alain came home holding a mysterious package. He had just put it away when he heard a pounding on the front door.

Surprised, he went to answer it. Outside was a very angry, middle-aged woman. "Where is your mother?" she snapped, without so much as a hello.

Alain was taken aback, but said politely, "I'll get her. Come on in." The woman entered in a huff.

Alain was about to look for Belle, but at that moment she entered the room, having heard the knocking, followed by Georges and Lili. "Oh, Madame Grognon!" she said in surprise. "What can I do for you?"

"You can keep better control of that crazy girl of yours, for a start!" Madame Grognon said angrily.

"Mimi?" Belle asked in confusion. "We already talked about that. I told you, she's been punished for hitting Luc."

"I'm not talking about that!" Madame Grognon shouted, losing her temper. "Your girl was galloping down the street on horseback, going much too fast, totally reckless, with _no_ control whatsoever! She nearly ran me over! I had to jump out of the way to avoid an injury! _And_ I dropped all my packages, and all my eggs broke!"

"What?" Belle was shocked and confused. _She was only going out to groom her horse – I saw her out there myself! _she thought. She went to the window to look out at the paddock and stalls. There was no sign of Mimi.

Belle's heart clutched with fear as she pictured her little girl, an inexperienced rider, tearing down the road on a runaway horse, with no control…Where was she now? She could have gotten into an accident! She could be hurt – or worse!

Madame Grognon was still ranting. "…obviously she has no respect at _all_ for rules or authority! I swear, in all my born days, I've never seen such a wicked, disobedient child! You're obviously much too lenient with her. Spare the rod and spoil the child, I always say. How people here can trust you with a classroom when you can't even control your own child—"

"Madame Grognon, please, I have to find my daughter! She could be hurt!" Belle interrupted. "Did you see which way she went?"

"Frankly, I was in too much of a fright to notice," said Madame Grognon huffily.

"All right. Here's some money for your eggs," Belle said, pushing some coins into her hand and ushering her to the door, her mind on Mimi. "I'll talk to you later. Right now, I have to go!"

Madame Grognon left, muttering under her breath.

Belle turned to her other children, trying to compose herself and figure out the best way to find Mimi. "Alain, you come with me. Georges, you stay here in case Mimi comes back. If she does, tell her to stay here with Lili and you come find me right away. If your father comes home, tell him what happened and send him out to look too!"

"All right, Mama," Georges said.

Belle and Alain went out into the main road. Belle tried to think. Where could her daughter be? "Madame Grognon said Mimi was tearing down the road…Alain, you follow the road that way, and I'll go this way. Maybe someone's seen her. If you find her, yell for me!"

"I will," Alain promised, and set off.

Belle hurried along the road, her eyes scanning the village. She didn't see Mimi anywhere. She saw an elderly man and ran up to him. "Monsieur Jourdan, have you seen my little girl Mimi? She took her horse out riding a little while ago…"

The old man shook his head. "Sorry, Belle, I haven't seen her."

"Thank you anyway." Belle ran on, frantically searching, trying to shake her mental image of Mimi lying broken and bleeding in a ditch somewhere. Where _was _she?

O o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

As Alain walked quickly through the village, his eyes sweeping the scene, he spotted Henri, LeFou's older son, a friend of his and Georges. "Henri! Did you see my sister Mimi anywhere?"

Henri nodded and pointed. "She came riding through here before – she went that way. Headed into the woods. That's some nice horse she's got!" he added with admiration.

"Yeah, it is. Thanks!" He ran toward the woods.

Just as he reached the trees, Mimi emerged, leading her horse. She was a mess. Her hair was soaking wet and tangled, her clothes were muddy, and she was limping. "Sis! There you are!" Alain said, relieved.

She looked up. "Oh…hi. What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you!" he replied. "What happened? You're limping."

"I tried to jump the brook and fell in," she admitted, embarrassed.

"Are you all right?" her brother asked in concern.

She nodded. "I hurt my ankle, but I can walk. It's not too bad." She stopped in sudden horror as a thought struck her. "Uh-oh…if you came to look for me…does that mean Mama knows?"

"'Fraid so," he said sympathetically.

Mimi closed her eyes for a moment. "How bad is it?"

"Pretty bad," Alain admitted. "Luc's mother came to the house yelling that you almost ran her over on your horse. Mama's out looking for you too."

"Oh, no," Mimi groaned. "She's gonna kill me!" She looked back at the woods. "Maybe I should stay away for a while. I don't really want to go home now."

Alain shook his head and took Tempête's reins from her. "Nah, Ma's scared half to death. We have to get home and let her know you're all right."

Mimi pushed her wet hair out of her face. "Okay," she sighed.

Alain put his arm around her. "Here, lean on me," he said, and they started slowly towards home, though Mimi dreaded getting there. _Mama was ALREADY mad at me for fighting with Luc... _She looked up at Alain. "How come you're always so good, Alain? You _never _get in trouble!"

Alain laughed. "Well, I just _think_ before I do things," he pointed out. "I think, 'what will happen if I do this, or that?' I look at all the choices, and what the result would be with each one, and then I decide what the best thing to do is."

"All that?" Mimi said in dismay. She couldn't imagine doing that much _thinking_ every time she wanted to do something. "I can't think that much!" She sighed miserably. "I guess I'm just stuck being the bad kid. Everything I do is wrong."

"Aw, you're not bad," Alain said reassuringly. "You just don't think sometimes. It's okay, you're only nine. Besides…" he added encouragingly, "you keep things interesting. Let's face it: it would be a lot more boring around here without you!"

"Really?" said Mimi, surprised and pleased.

"Sure," Alain said with a grin.

They were getting closer to home now. They could hear Belle calling frantically, "Mimi! Where are you?"

"We're over here, Ma!" Alain yelled. "She's all right!" He took his sister's hand. "Come on. Let's go find her. It'll be okay."

"I'm gonna be in _so_ much trouble though! What should I do?" she asked worriedly, looking up at him.

Alain thought a moment. "The main thing is, start telling her how sorry you are right away, before she says anything. If you start out apologizing, it's harder for them to be mad at you."

"Yeah?" Mimi said hopefully.

Alain nodded. "And _don't_ argue with her. That'll make it worse. Just say you're sorry and agree with everything she says. If she punishes you, don't complain about it. Just get it over with."

"All right." She saw Belle rushing towards them. "I guess this is it," she said nervously.

He patted her shoulder. "It'll be okay."

"Mimi!" cried Belle as she ran up to them. "Thank God!" She hugged her daughter tightly, heedless of the mud. "I was so worried!"

"I'm okay, Mama," Mimi said in a small voice.

"Let's get you inside." She picked Mimi up. "Alain, can you put the horse away?"

"Sure, Mama," Alain said.

Inside, Belle put Mimi on the couch and said, "Are you all right? Where have you _been?"_

Mimi took a deep breath. "I went riding. I'm sorry."

Belle looked her over. "You're all wet and muddy. What happened?"

Mimi braced herself. "I tried to jump the brook and fell off the horse," she said boldly, wanting to get it over with.

"What?" Belle said, alarmed. "You don't know how to jump! Are you all right?"

Alain entered as she spoke. "She hurt her ankle," he said, hoping to win a little sympathy for his sister.

Belle was immediately concerned. "Let me see it," she said, kneeling down to look at Mimi's ankle. She felt the ankle, then took Mimi's foot and moved it around. "It's not broken, thank goodness. Does it hurt?"

"Not too much," Mimi said bravely.

Belle stood up again, relieved. "Mimi, you were very lucky. Do you know how dangerous that was? You could have been seriously hurt, or even _killed!"_

Instinctively, Mimi tried to defend herself by minimizing the incident. "But I _wasn't_ hurt. Nothing bad happened."

"But something bad _could _have happened!" Now that she knew Mimi was safe, Belle's fear was replaced by anger. How could Mimi treat this so casually, as though it were nothing? "You could have been hurt, and you also could have hurt _other _people. Madame Grognon says you almost ran her over!"

"I didn't, though! I even pulled the reins so she had time to jump of the way!" Mimi protested.

"That's not the _point!"_ Belle said in exasperation. "Mimi, you know perfectly well that you're not allowed to go riding on your own! I specifically _told _you to wait till Papa came home! Why did you disobey me?_"_

Mimi shrugged. "I don't know."

"You don't _know?"_ Belle tried hard to be understanding and patient with her children, but sometimes Mimi just pushed her to the limit. She shook her head. "This is very serious, Mimi. You deliberately disobeyed me, and you put yourself and other people in danger. That was very irresponsible of you. You know better than this. I'm disappointed in you."

Mimi looked down at the ground, ashamed.

"You _have _to learn that actions have consequences," Belle went on. She tried to think of a punishment that would make an impression. "No riding for a week, and no playing outside either. You're going to come straight home after school and do chores around the house. You can help Madame Nettoyage with the cleaning."

Mimi looked up in horror. A whole _week_ of being stuck indoors cleaning? And no riding? She'd _die!_

Then she had a sudden thought. "What about when Papa comes home tonight?" she asked hopefully. "Can I still go riding with him then?"

Belle stared at her in disbelief. Did _nothing_ get through to her? "No, you may _not!_ I told you: no riding for a week! And besides, with your ankle hurt, you wouldn't be able to go riding tonight anyway," she pointed out. "That's what I mean about consequences."

"But I was only bad _one_ day! Why do I have to get punished for a whole _week?" _Mimi protested. Too late, she saw Alain shake his head slightly at her. She remembered him warning her to stay apologetic and not argue. Too late now. Darn!

"Because you need to learn a _lesson _from this!" Belle said. "Maybe a week of being punished will make you finally understand that you have to follow the rules!"

Mimi could see there was no use arguing. "Can I go to my room now?"

"That's probably a good idea," Belle said wearily. "And take off those muddy clothes." Mimi went upstairs. Belle sat down with a sigh. She hated having to be harsh with her children. But she couldn't let Mimi disobey and do reckless, dangerous things either. Parenting was so hard sometimes!

Thinking of Mimi's ankle, she went outside to the icehouse to get some ice. She came back in and handed the ice and some cloth to Alain. "Give this to your sister and tell her to put it on her ankle."

"Sure, Ma," Alain said, going upstairs.

Belle sat down and looked at the clock over the mantle. Her spirits lifted slightly as she saw the time.

With any luck, her husband would be home soon.


	4. Daddy's Home

Gaston headed for home, his rifle in one hand, the day's kill in a sack slung over his shoulder, and his two hunting dogs at his heels. He was in a fine mood. He stored the meat in the icehouse, then headed toward the house.

This was his favorite part of the day. Before his marriage, he'd always pictured this moment: coming home each day to be greeted by a loving wife and a large brood of rambunctious kids. Now he had that scene in reality every day, and it was even better than he had imagined.

"I'm home!" he called cheerfully as he entered the house. The dogs rushed past him into the house, barking for their dinner. Seeing Belle approaching from the kitchen, Gaston grabbed her and dipped her dramatically, making her giggle. He lifted her up and kissed her. "Mmm, you look gorgeous," he said appreciatively. The years had been kind to Belle. At 34, she was still the most beautiful woman in town as far as Gaston was concerned, with her long dark hair and big brown eyes, but giving birth to four kids had also given her a softer, slightly rounder, curvier look that Gaston found absolutely irresistible. He whispered in her ear, "Put the kids to bed early - I'll skip going to the tavern tonight. Okay?" Gaston's ardor for her had not cooled over the years, nor had his ability to make her melt with his kisses.

"Mmm, that sounds good to me," Belle said, kissing him back. After a difficult day, seeing her beloved husband never failed to lift her spirits. She took a moment to admire him. He was just as handsome as he had been in his younger days, but he now had an added air of maturity that she found extremely attractive. "You're looking very handsome yourself, I must say," she told him, smiling.

"Of course I am!" he agreed with a wink, preening. Gaston's limitless vanity was a bit of a private joke between the two of them. Belle loved to tease him about it, which only encouraged him more.

"Did you have a good day hunting?" she asked.

"Yep," he replied. "How was your day?"

Belle sighed, hating to tell him about Mimi's latest caper. "Well—"

But before she could continue, Mimi came flying down the stairs, her hurt ankle forgotten in her glee at hearing her father's voice. She was followed close behind by the others. "PAPA!" The children tumbled into the room with the dogs barking at their heels. Mimi, Alain and Georges immediately tackled Gaston, practically knocking the wind out of him. Laughing, Gaston began wrestling and roughhousing with them as they climbed all over him. "You kids are getting too strong for me!" he said jokingly.

Lili stayed off to the side, waiting patiently. Small and delicate, she had chosen to stay out of the roughhousing after getting bumped and knocked about one too many times by her bigger and more exuberant siblings. After a few minutes, Gaston said, "Okay, that's enough - let's give your sister a turn. Come here, princess." He scooped Lili up and swung her around, but gently, as she giggled. "More, Papa!" Gaston set her on his shoulders. "Now you're a princess on a high tower, looking over her kingdom!" he joked. He gave her a ride into the living room, then put her down.

Alain tugged on Gaston's sleeve. "Pa, I have something to show you!" he said eagerly. He ran upstairs and came down with the wrapped package, which he handed to his father.

Gaston unwrapped it, and his eyes widened in surprise. "Oh, it's that old rifle of mine that wasn't working! I've been meaning to get that fixed. You brought it in for me, son? Thanks."

Alain shook his head. "No, I fixed it myself!" he said proudly.

"Really?" Gaston was genuinely impressed.

"Well, Grandpa helped," Alain added, always honest. "We did it in his workshop. I took it apart, and Grandpa and I figured out what was wrong. The problem was that the ejector spring wore out and lost too much tension, so it wouldn't fire. Grandpa has all kinds of springs in his workshop, so we found one that fit, and I replaced it. Simple as that."

"Clever boy!" Gaston said proudly, ruffling his son's hair. "You can fix just about anything, can't you? Here, let's try it out." He went outside, followed by Alain. Gaston aimed at an apple on a tree in the yard and fired, knocking the fruit off the tree. "Works as good as new! Thanks, son, you saved me some money there!" Alain beamed. They went back in the house.

"Papa," said Georges, wanting attention too. "I wrote a poem today!"

Gaston was taken aback. He hated poetry himself – it was boring, and most poems made no sense to him. And the thought of a son of his doing something as prissy as writing a poem didn't thrill him. He'd always envisioned his sons as big strong manly hunters, like himself.

But Georges looked _so_ proud of himself, and so eager for Gaston's approval. And Gaston wanted to be a good father. "A poem, huh?" Gaston said, a bit reluctantly. "Uh…all right… let's hear it."

Georges cleared his throat and recited his butterfly poem. He looked at Gaston hopefully. "What do you think?"

Gaston was at a loss. He had no idea if it was good or bad. And a boy writing about _butterflies? _Couldn't it at least be about hunting or something?

Georges was waiting for his reaction. Gaston wondered what he should say. "Uh…aren't poems supposed to rhyme?"

"Not all of them, Papa," Georges told him.

"Oh. Well, in that case, it's…great, son," he said, trying to sound enthusiastic. "Very nice. Lots of big words. Sounds very smart!"

Belle smiled affectionately at Georges. "He really is incredibly talented," she said proudly.

"Yep," Gaston said. "Oh, and remember, boys! Saturday you're coming hunting with me! We'll have a fine time, won't we?" He grinned at his sons in anticipation.

"You bet, Pa!" Alain said happily.

"Sure," Georges said reluctantly, forcing a smile.

Mimi piped up. "When can _I _go hunting?" she demanded. "I'm nine already! You started taking Georges when _he_ was nine!"

"You want to come hunting?" Gaston said, surprised, although on reflection, he realized he shouldn't have been. Of all his children, Mimi took after him the most – athletic, outdoorsy, daring, and _very _competitive."Well…girls don't usually go hunting…"

Mimi scowled. "Why not?"

"Well, most of them aren't interested in it, and wouldn't be good at it," Gaston explained.

"_I'd _be good at it!" Mimi insisted. "I'd be the _best _at it!"

Gaston laughed. "You very well might be at that," he said fondly, ruffling her hair. "Okay. You can come with us on Saturday."

_"Yes!_ Oh, thank you, Papa!" Mimi said excitedly, hugging him.

Belle interrupted. "Wait. I don't think that's such a good idea."

Gaston was surprised. Normally Belle was all in favor of letting the girls do whatever the boys did. "Why not?"

Belle hated to ruin the happy family mood, but this was important. "I don't think Mimi should be getting treats and rewards right now," Belle said. "Mimi, tell your father what you did today."

Mimi looked sulky, but didn't answer.

Gaston put his hand under her chin and tilted her head up. "Come on now, wildcat," he said, using his pet name for her. "What did you do?"

Mimi sighed. "I went riding," she mumbled.

"She wanted to ride her horse," Belle said. "I told her to wait till _you _got home, so you could supervise. Instead, she disobeyed me, sneaked the horse out of the stable, and went galloping through town like a madwoman!"

"She did, huh?" Gaston tried to suppress a smile. It was hard for him to be angry, seeing as how it was exactly the kind of mischief he himself might have gotten into as a child. His daughter was one heck of a girl, he thought.

"She practically ran a woman over! " Belle continued.

"Oh – she didn't hurt her, did she?" Gaston asked.

"No, fortunately," Belle said. "But she also tried to jump the brook all by herself!"

"You jumped Tempête?" Gaston asked Mimi, interested. "How did he do?"

Belle was exasperated. "She fell _off, _Gaston! Came home soaking wet and limping because she twisted her ankle!" she said sternly. "She's lucky she didn't break her neck!"

Gaston looked concerned. "You all right? Let me see that ankle."

"I'm fine, Papa," Mimi insisted. "It was nothing."

"So, I told her she's grounded for a week," Belle finished. "She _has _to learn to follow rules. No horseback riding, no playing outside, and definitely no hunting!" She fervently hoped Gaston would back her up on this. She hated having to be the bad guy.

"Mama!" Mimi said, aghast. Her papa had _finally _agreed to take her hunting – the one thing she'd been waiting for her whole _life!_ – and now her mother was taking it away from her? All she'd done was ride her own horse! Why did Mama always want to spoil all her fun?

Gaston looked just as disappointed as Mimi felt. He cleared his throat. "Your mother's right, wildcat," he said apologetically. "Believe me, I know how much you love riding, and you were very brave to want to try jumping! But it was dangerous for you to go out on your own. You haven't been riding very long, and Tempête's not a trained jumper. You could have gotten hurt. And _Tempête _could have gotten hurt – if he'd landed the wrong way, he could have broken his leg, and then he'd have to be put down. You wouldn't want that, would you?"

"No," Mimi said, looking at the ground. Then she looked up at him. "But Papa…couldn't I still--?" she began pleadingly.

Gaston shook his head. "I'm sorry, honey. If your mother tells you something, you have to listen to her. But we'll go hunting some other time, all right?"

Mimi pouted. "Some other time" was so vague - it might _never _happen. She wanted to go this Saturday! But she could see from his expression that there was no use arguing. "All right," she said miserably.

"And I want you to apologize to your mother for disobeying," Gaston added.

Mimi looked up, startled. "What?"

"You heard me," Gaston said firmly. He was indulgent with his children with most things, but not when it came to showing disrespect to their parents.

Mimi looked away. "I'm sorry," she said glumly.

"Thank you, Mimi," Belle said. She thought for a moment. "I think you should apologize to Madame Grognon too."

"But she's so _mean!"_ Mimi protested. "Do I have to?"

"I know she's not a very pleasant person, but you could have seriously hurt her," Belle said. "You do owe her an apology for that."

"I'll go with you," Gaston offered. "Give you a little moral support. We'll go together after dinner, all right?"

"All right," Mimi said. At least if her father was with her, it wouldn't be as bad.

Belle was relieved that Mimi wasn't putting up an argument. She stroked her daughter's hair. "Honey, please understand. We make these rules for your own good. I don't want to see you get hurt."

Mimi didn't want to be understanding. She wanted to be grumpy! She didn't say anything. Belle sighed. "Let's all sit down to dinner, shall we?" Maybe some food would improve everyone's mood.

Over dinner, Gaston regaled them all with his latest hunting stories. Belle mentioned some news about their mutual friends in the village, and they chatted about that for awhile. Then Gaston looked at the children. "How about you kids?" he asked conversationally, taking a forkful of venison. "How was school today?"

"Mimi punched a boy!" Lili piped up eagerly.

Mimi glared at her. Great. Now she would be in trouble _again. _The story of her life. Could she ever get through just one hour without being scolded for something?

Lili saw the look. "What's wrong? Papa asked about school. That was the most exciting thing that happened at school today!"

Gaston looked at Mimi sympathetically. His girl had had a rough day, it seemed. "What happened? Tell me about it."

Mimi rolled her eyes. "This new boy, Luc, said that no one could beat him at arm wrestling. I told him I could. He said girls _can't_ arm wrestle – that girls can't do _anything!_ So we arm wrestled, and I beat him."

Gaston laughed out loud. "Good girl! I bet _that_ shut him up!"

"No, it didn't," Mimi said, getting angry all over again. "He said I _cheated! _But I didn't! And he said I'm a 'dumb girl' and I could never be as good as him! So I punched him."

Gaston nodded. "Good for you, wildcat!" he said approvingly. "Stick up for yourself and teach that little scamp not to mess with you! I'd have done the same thing."

_"Gaston!" _Belle said, appalled. That was all she needed – Gaston encouraging Mimi to get into _more_ fights! "I'm trying to teach Mimi to control her temper. Hitting people is _not _the right answer!"

"But that rascal said she cheated! He was insulting her honor! Is she supposed to just sit back and take it?" Gaston protested. "That's how kids get bullied – they just let other kids push them around and don't stand up for themselves." He shook his head in disagreement. "No, Belle. Someone tries to push you around, you have to let them know right away that you're _not_ going to let them get away with it. Otherwise they'll just keep doing it."

"Look, I agree that she should stand up for herself, but with _words,"_ Belle insisted. "I'm running a school, Gaston – I can't have Mimi going around punching people and getting into fights! I had to bring Luc home and tell his mother what happened. The _same_ woman Mimi almost ran over later, I might add. A horrid woman - you should have heard her! Telling me the council obviously made a mistake in hiring a woman when I can't even keep control of my _own_ kids…"

"She said that to _you?_ How dare she! Who _is_ this woman?" Gaston said, incensed. _No one _talked to his wife like that! He'd put a stop to it, that was for sure.

"That's not the point! The point is…what could I say to her? I'm in charge of the school, Gaston. I'm supposed to be keeping order and discipline, but my own daughter is going around punching other children!" Belle pointed out.

Gaston considered this. "Mmm, that is a good point. You do have your reputation to think about." If there was one thing Gaston understood well, it was the importance of a good public image and reputation. He'd practically made a career out of making himself look good. He turned to Mimi. "Listen, Mimi. You're old enough to understand this. Your mama's the village schoolteacher – that's an important job, one of the most important jobs in town! And she's a darn fine teacher, the best this town's ever had. We're all proud of her, aren't we? We want everyone to know what a great job she's doing.

"But if kids are fighting in her school, it makes your mama look bad. Next thing you know, the council fires her, and you kids end up with some boring, dried-up old prune of a teacher who makes you read dull lesson books and whacks kids with a ruler." He made a face, and Mimi giggled. "That's what my teachers were like, and believe me, you _don't _want one like that! You're darn lucky you've got your mama to teach you. She's a great lady. You don't want to mess everything up for her, do you?"

"No," Mimi admitted.

"All right, then," Gaston said. "So when you're in school, you behave as good as you possibly can, and don't get into fights. Show everyone what a great teacher your mama is. Make me proud. Okay?" He chucked her under the chin.

"Okay, Papa," Mimi said. She adored her father; she would do anything to make him proud of her. "I will."

"That's a good girl," Gaston said, patting her on the head. "I'll tell you this, though: I'm proud of you for sticking up for yourself. No one messes with my girl! Right?"

She grinned. "Right, Papa."

Gaston went back to eating. Mimi did too, looking much more cheerful. Belle stared at them both in amazement. How did he _do _that? she wondered. She tried so hard to be a good mother, but sometimes it seemed almost impossible to get Mimi to behave. But Gaston came in, and with just a few words, he got Mimi do whatever he asked – and _agreeably, _with no arguing or talking back. He seemed to have a natural rapport with her that Belle could only envy.

Belle went back to eating. Well, at least he'd gotten Mimi to promise to behave. She supposed that was one of the advantages of marriage – each partner had strengths to balance out the other's.

After dinner, Gaston said, "Well, I guess we're not going riding tonight, after what happened. Tell you what…let's all take a walk instead. I'll carry you on my shoulders, Mimi. You need to rest that ankle. We can go by that woman's house on the way back, get that apology over with."

Belle agreed, so they went outside to stroll through town. Gaston beamed with pride at the sight of them all as they walked. They certainly were an impressive family, he thought: Belle, the most beautiful, smartest, most important woman in the whole village; Alain and Georges, his two tall, handsome boys, the spitting image of himself; Mimi, who had more spirit and courage than any other kid in town, boy _or _girl; and Lili, his little princess, so sweet and pretty that all the adults they passed couldn't help smiling at her. No man in town had a finer family, he thought proudly. He was sure everyone in the village envied him.

As they reached the outskirts of town, Belle pointed at a house. "There – that's the Grognons' house." Gaston put Mimi down. Belle paused a moment. "Mimi, I think it would look better if you went up to the house yourself. Tell Madame Grognon how sorry you are about almost running her over, and that it won't happen again. If I go with you, it looks like I'm making you do it."

"But you _are _making me do it_," _Mimi pointed out.

"Well, that's true," Belle admitted. "But still…"

Gaston laughed. "What your mother means is, if you're going to do this, you want to make yourself look as good as possible. It's all about the image." He winked at her.

"I wouldn't exactly put it _that _way," Belle protested. "I just don't want to give that old…I mean, Madame Grognon any more ammunition. Just go up and apologize as nicely as you can, Mimi, all right?"

Mimi nodded reluctantly and went up to the house. She knocked on the door.

Madame Grognon answered it. Her lip curled distastefully when she saw who it was. "Yes? What do _you_ want?" she said rudely.

Mimi took a deep breath. "I just wanted to tell you that I'm very sorry I almost ran you down before. And I won't do it again."

"Well, I should certainly _hope_ you're sorry!" Madame Grognon snapped. "A little girl tearing down the street on horseback and getting into fights like a hooligan!" She shook her head in outrage. "Running around wild, acting like a boy – it's nothing short of sinful, that's what it is. Your parents should be ashamed of themselves for allowing such shenanigans! You should be practicing your embroidery, not riding horses! You need to learn your place in this world, missy."

Belle was fuming as she listened to the diatribe. What kind of nasty, heartless person would yell at a little girl who was apologizing? And her insistence that it was wrong for girls to do the things boys did made Belle's blood boil.

She was about to go over there and give that wretched woman a piece of her mind, but Gaston beat her to it. He stormed up to the door, his face dark with fury.

"I'm Gaston Avenant, Mimi's father," he announced, towering over Madame Grognon. "And _no one_ talks to my daughter like that! You want to say something, you say it to _me!"_"

Madame Grognon, taken by surprise, could only gulp as she looked up at him. Yelling at a little girl was one thing, but a big, powerful man was something else. Intimidated, she could only stammer, "Well…uh…I mean…"

"Mimi said she was sorry. If someone tells you they're sorry, you _accept_ it," Gaston said firmly. "Anything else is very rude. Don't you think?" he added, looking at her menacingly.

"Well…I…yes, of course, monsieur," Madame Grognon said meekly. She looked at Mimi. "I accept your apology, child."

"Good," Gaston said. "And I'll tell you something else: I've taught my daughter to stand up for herself. She's not going to let any bullies call her names or push her around. So you'd better make sure that boy of yours watches his step."

"Yes, I'll tell him," Madame Grognon said submissively.

"All right then. Good night." Gaston put his arm protectively around Mimi and led her back to the family.

Madame Grognon watched them go. "Well, I never!" she muttered, but quietly enough to make sure Gaston didn't hear. Huffily, she went back into her house.

"Who was at the door, Mathilde?" called her husband, Eugène, a mild-mannered balding man, entering the room.

"That crazy girl who punched Luc and almost trampled me with her horse!" Madame Grognon said. "She came to apologize."

"Oh, that was nice of her," Eugène said approvingly.

His wife sniffed. "Well, it was the _least _she could do! I took the opportunity to give her some sound advice."

Eugène sighed. "Mathilde, you didn't scold the poor child, did you?" He knew well that his wife was the type to hold a grudge.

"I hardly had the chance! Her father suddenly appeared and told me not to talk to his daughter that way. I've never been spoken to so rudely in all my life!"

Eugène rolled his eyes. "Mathilde, we've only been in this village for one day! Are you making enemies already? Can't you just try to get along with people?"

"Is that all you care about? Other people? What about _me? _I'm the one who was almost trampled today!" she wailed dramatically.

"But you weren't," he pointed out. "And you just said the girl came to apologize. So what's the problem?"

"The problem is that a man spoke very rudely to your wife! What are you going to do about it?" she demanded.

Eugène shook his head wearily. "All right, fine, I'll talk to him. What's his name?"

She thought for a moment, trying to recall. "Gaston something."

"Gaston Avenant?" Eugène said, startled.

"Yes, that was it. Why, do you know him?" Mathilde asked, surprised.

"I haven't met him yet, but every man in town mentioned him to me today. He's the most important man in the entire village!" Eugêne said, vexed. "Did you _have _to go starting trouble with him?"

"He started with _me!_ Well, his daughter did," protested Mathilde.

"But she _apologized!"_ Eugêne threw up his hands. "Oh, forget it. I'm going to bed. Tomorrow I'll try to smooth things over with him."

"Hmmph! Fine way to stand up for your wife!" Mathilde grumbled, and went to make herself some tea to calm her nerves.

O o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

Back with the family, Mimi hugged her father. "Papa, you were _wonderful!"_ she exclaimed.

"He certainly was!" Belle agreed, smiling.

"Aren't I always?" Gaston said with a grin. He patted Mimi's head.

"Mimi, I'm very proud of you," Belle said. "That was a beautiful apology you made. I'm sorry Madame Grognon was too mean-spirited to appreciate it. She had _no_ right to yell at you like that!" She shook her head in disbelief. "I can't believe anyone could be so rude!"

"That's okay. Papa showed her! Didn't you, Papa?" Mimi said, looking up at him, her eyes shining. He was her hero.

"That's what I'm here for, wildcat," he said, putting his arm around her shoulder. "No one talks to my family like that!"

"Our papa is the biggest, strongest man in the whole world!" Lili piped up.

"You know it, princess," Gaston agreed. "Come on. Let's go home."

O o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o oo o o o o oo o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

Back at home, Belle made hot chocolate for everyone. Then came Belle's favorite part of the day: the magical time each evening when she read aloud to her husband and children. No matter what had transpired during the day, all worries and problems seemed to fade away as she opened the book and took her family on a journey into an imaginary world.

She went to the bookshelf and smiled with anticipation as she drew out the handsome, leather-bound volume of _1001 Arabian Nights _that Gaston had given her for her last birthday. Book in hand, she went to sit on the couch. George sat next to her on one side while Lili snuggled up to her on the other, leaning over to look at the pictures. Alain sat in a nearby chair. Gaston settled comfortably into his huge overstuffed armchair, while Mimi sprawled on the bearskin rug on the floor, hating to be restricted even when sitting. On the rug, she could stretch out and move around as much as she wanted. The two hunting dogs curled up on the rug on either side of her, and she petted them as she listened.

Belle opened the book and began to read "The Enchanted Horse," a story about a mechanical horse that could instantly take the rider anywhere he wished to go merely by turning a screw in its neck. It was a marvelous tale with something to appeal to everyone. Alain was intrigued by the ingenious mechanical invention; Gaston and Mimi enjoyed the action, adventure, and danger; Lili liked the romance between the handsome prince and the beautiful princess; and Georges loved the whole story, the fanciful twists and turns and the vivid descriptions. He wished he could write something that good someday. Belle loved it all too, especially the fact that the princess was an intelligent girl who cleverly tricked her kidnapper, instead of passively waiting to be rescued.

As Belle read, she glanced around at her family, all listening with rapt attention, and smiled. Reading was such a different experience these days, she thought. When she was younger, reading had been a solitary activity. Everyone in the village had thought she was odd, and books had been her escape, her way of shutting out a world where no one understood her. She had loved the world of books, but it was a world that isolated her. She had felt so alone back then.

But now, reading was a _shared _experience with her family, a communal ritual that bonded them together. Every night, she drew them into her world of stories. Seeing the pleasure on her children's faces as they marveled at the story filled her with happiness, knowing that they felt the same magic she did.

In his armchair, Gaston grinned as he watched Belle read aloud. It was still so amazing to him, the way that his wife could make a story seem so _real _with just her voice. He himself still had no appreciation for the printed word; on one or two occasions he had tried to read aloud just to make Belle happy, but the tedious effort of deciphering the words took all the fun out of it for him. On the page, the words were just lifeless black scratches. It took Belle's expressive voice to make them come alive and make him feel like he was really _there _in the story. He'd never known books could do that, until he met her. She was so talented, so special, so much _better _than any other woman in the village. No other man had such a smart, beautiful, gifted wife, he thought with pride.

After the story, Belle and Gaston put the children to bed. Then they retired to their own bedroom.

"So, that was quite an adventure our little Mimi had today," Gaston said with a smile as they entered the room.

"Yes...I worry about her a little sometimes," Belle confessed.

"Mimi? She's a _terrific_ kid!" Gaston said, sitting down on the bed and pulling off his boots. "Never gives up, never lets anyone push her around."

"I know. She's brave and independent, and that's wonderful," Belle said, going to the dresser and opening a drawer. She rummaged through it. "But she's so _reckless. _She doesn't think before she acts, and it gets her into trouble. I'm afraid she'll get hurt one of these days."

Gaston shook his head dismissively. "Nah. She's just full of spirit. Takes after me," he said proudly. "And if she gets into a scrape, she's spunky enough to get out of it, too."

"I hope so," Belle said with a sigh. She took out a nightgown, and began getting changed for bed.

"Tell you the truth, it's Georges that _I_ worry about," Gaston went on.

Belle turned in surprise. "Georges? Why?"

"A boy writing poems about butterflies?"Gaston shook his head. "Something's not right there."

Belle frowned. "Gaston, who do you _think _writes poems? Most of the great poets of all time were men: Shakespeare, Dante, Petrarch, John Donne, Christopher Marlowe...It's a wonderful gift to be able to write poetry. Georges is incredibly talented. You should be proud of him."

"I guess," Gaston said, unconvinced. He remembered the one man he'd ever met who liked poetry: Hervé Liseur, a timid, spineless coward who hid at the first sign of danger and fainted at the sight of blood. He'd shoot himself if a son of his turned out like that. "I'd just hate for him to become some prissy little weakling."

Belle rolled her eyes. She loved Gaston, truly, but he could be so..._primeval_ sometimes. "Why would he? Just because he likes poetry? What does one thing have to do with the other? I think it's wonderful that he has different interests. Besides, haven't you taught him how to fight, and ride horses, and shoot, and all those 'manly' things that are so important to you?"

"That's true," Gaston said, brightening. "And we're going hunting on Saturday."

"How is he doing with hunting?" Belle asked, sitting at the mirror and brushing her hair.

"Oh, fine," Gaston said. "He's great at tracking – he notices every little thing. He hasn't bagged anything yet, but he's young. That'll come in time."

"There you go," Belle said, putting the brush down. She turned and looked at her husband coyly. "And you shouldn't be so negative about poetry, considering what it did for you! Remember when you memorized that poem for me to win my heart?" She came over to the bed and sat down next to him, sighing reminiscently. "It was the most romantic thing I'd ever heard."

"How could I forget? It was the hardest thing I ever had to do in my life!" Gaston laughed. Affectionately he ran his fingers through her hair. "You never did make it easy for me, did you?" he said fondly.

"Oh, admit it - you _loved_ it," Belle teased. "If I'd fallen at your feet like all the other girls, you never would have given me a second glance. Sometimes I think the _only _reason you went after me was that I didn't like you!" she added with a laugh.

"Well, I always did love a challenge," Gaston said, grinning.

She put her arms around him and looked up at him. "And what about now?" she asked playfully. "I'm all yours, we've been married 14 years...are you tired of me yet?"

"Tired of _you?_ Never!" he said, gazing into her eyes. ""The first day I saw you, I knew you were the one. You're the best woman in town. Always have been and always will be."

She kissed him. "I'm the luckiest woman in town, too."

"Of course you are! You married _me,_ didn't you?" Gaston agreed.

She smiled and lay down on the bed seductively. "Yes. In fact...why don't you show me again _why_ I'm the luckiest woman in town?" she said invitingly.

Gaston grinned. "You don't have to tell me twice," he said, putting his arms around her.


	5. Girl Talk, and Alain's Big Chance

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, this is a long chapter! With this story, I'm finding that my biggest challenge isn't the actual WRITING - that part is going fine, knock wood! - but rather, just figuring out what order to put the events in, and how much to include in each chapter. On the one hand, I want to introduce all the characters and storylines; on the other hand, I don't want to overwhelm readers or confuse them, or make them feel like there's too much going on. So please, do be honest with feedback and let me know if this pacing is working or not - if the chapters are too long, if there's too much going on (or, conversely, if there are too many long "characterization, family and daily life" scenes and not ENOUGH action going on) etc. This is a new kind of story for me, so I'm kind of feeling my way!_

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The next day at school, as the children went out to recess, Belle pulled Mimi aside and said, "Remember, honey, no running around today – I want you to rest that ankle. Just play quietly, all right?"

Mimi groaned loudly. Belle smiled and patted her shoulder. "I know it's _very _hard for you to sit still! But you took a bad fall yesterday. Just take it easy for one day. All right?"

"All right," Mimi said reluctantly. She went outside and sat on a log.

Luc saw her and smirked. "I bet you got in a _heap_ of trouble yesterday!" he said with relish. "Your parents must have punished you bad! Ha ha!"

Two pretty blonde sisters named Fantine and Justine (daughters of the triplet called Bambi) immediately looked up from their dolls with interest. "What did she do?" Fantine asked cattily. At age nine, she was already an accomplished gossip and tattletale. Her sister was a year younger.

"Don't you know?" Luc said importantly. "She went tearing through town on a runaway horse, knocking things down and running people over!"

"What? She ran people over? Did she kill anybody?" Justine asked Luc eagerly, as if Mimi wasn't there.

"I didn't _kill _anybody! I didn't even run anyone over!" Mimi protested. "Luc's mother got out of the way in time!"

The two girls tittered. "My mother always says Mimi's crazy," Fantine said to Luc. "She says she's so mixed-up, she thinks she's a _boy!" _They giggled again.

Mimi glared at her. "Your mother's stupid, then."

The girls gasped, horrified at such disrespect. "Oh, yeah? I'm gonna tell your mother you said that!" Fantine announced.

Luc grinned, pleased that the girl who had humiliated him yesterday was getting a taste of it today. Feeling triumphant, he turned from Mimi and walked away, leaving her embarrassed and fuming. She wished she could punch him again, but she'd promised Papa she'd behave.

Eriq, Denis and a few of the other boys came over. "Hey, Mimi," Eriq said eagerly, "did you really ride into the forest yesterday all by yourself?"

Seeing that he was clearly impressed, Mimi's spirits began to lift. "Yes!" she exclaimed proudly.

Denis looked at her admiringly. "My parents _never _let me go into the forest."

"Well...they didn't exactly _let _me," Mimi admitted. "I was waiting for my papa to get home and take me riding, but then I got tired of waiting. So I decided to go out on my own."

"Wow. My pa would skin me alive if I did that!" a boy called Michel said in awe.

Mimi puffed out her chest, enjoying the reaction she was getting. "My folks were mad, sure. But I don't care! I do what I want and I go where I want," she boasted. The boys clearly admired her daring, and she was going to milk it for all it was worth.

Luc suddenly noticed the group of boys gathered around Mimi. Puzzled, he walked over and stood behind her unnoticed, listening.

"What was it like in the forest?" asked Denis.

"Dark and full of wild animals!" Mimi said, and they all leaned in to listen. "When I was there, I heard wolves howling," she improvised. "And then...then I even _saw _the wolves! They came up the hill right in front of me! There were seven...no, I mean, 10 of them!" That wasn't true, but it made the story better.

Denis' eyes were as round as saucers. "Were you scared?"

"Of course not!" Mimi declared boldly. "I just made a big fierce growl like this" – she demonstrated, screwing her face up into what she thought was a ferocious expression, and curling her fingers into claws – "and then I picked up a big rock and threw it at the wolves, and they ran away."

Luc sneered. "I don't believe you! You're making it up."

Mimi was startled, not having realized Luc was there. But she recovered quickly. She shrugged, determined not to let him ruin her moment. "Believe whatever you want. I don't care." She could see that the other boys were fascinated, and that was all that mattered. "I'm gonna kill a wolf someday," she boasted. "My papa's taking me hunting in a few weeks, and I'm gonna learn how."

Justine and Fantine looked appalled. "Your papa is taking you _hunting? _And you _want _to go?" Fantine exclaimed in utter disbelief.

Justine shuddered. "Ugh, I'd _hate_ to go in the woods! It's muddy and dark and spooky and full of bugs and spiders!"

"Well, I can't wait," Mimi said defiantly. "I'm gonna be the best hunter this town ever had. You wait and see!"

Fantine made a face. "You're so weird, Mimi. Come on, Justine. Let's go play dolls with the _real _girls." They went off, noses in the air.

But the boys stayed. "What else did you do, Mimi?"

"I jumped over the brook on my horse," Mimi bragged. "I must have jumped 10 feet!"

"That's amazing!" Henri said.

Then they realized recess was close to over, and they hadn't done any actual _playing_ yet. "We don't have much time – let's run some races!" Eriq suggested. "Come on, Mimi."

Mimi was tempted, but shook her head. "I can't run today," she admitted. "When I jumped over the brook, my horse got spooked and twisted the wrong way, and I fell off and hurt my ankle. It wasn't my fault," she added quickly. "The horse should have been braver like me! But anyway, Mama says I should rest the ankle and not run around today."

Luc saw his chance. "Oh, well, guess you'll have to stay here all by yourself while we go play! Come on, guys."

The boys started to leave. But then Eriq said, "Wait, I have an idea! Let's play marbles instead. We don't have to run around for that."

"Okay!" agreed the other boys.

The boys all gathered around Mimi with their marbles. "You can go first, Mimi," Eriq said, and Mimi smiled.

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After school, Alain told Belle he had something he needed to do before dinner, so Belle went home with Georges, Mimi and Lili. Georges went upstairs to read a book while Belle and the girls entered the kitchen.

"Good afternoon, Mme. Nettoyage," Belle said cheerfully to the woman who was wiping down the kitchen table. Gaston had hired the widow as a part-time housekeeper 13 years ago, and to Belle, she was a godsend. Three days a week, Mme. Nettoyage came by in the morning and spent the whole day cleaning the house, doing laundry, and cooking a big dinner. That left Belle free to focus on her teaching job and her children.

"Today you're going to have a helper!" Belle went on.

Mme. Nettoyage smiled. "Ah, is my little Lili going to keep me company today?" she asked fondly. Lili loved "playing house," and helping Mme. Nettoyage dust or stir cake batter made the little girl feel very grown-up and important. "She's such a good little helper. She'll make a wonderful wife someday!"

Lili beamed at the praise but shook her head. "Me and Mama are going to Amelie's house today! We're gonna see the new baby!" she said happily. "And I'm gonna play with Denis too."

"Oh. Well, have a good time, dear," Mme. Nettoyage said. She looked puzzled. "So...who is my helper today?"

"Mimi," Belle said, putting her hand on Mimi's shoulder. The girl folded her arms, looking grumpy. She _hated _cleaning even more than she hated reading and writing.

Mme. Nettoyage nodded approvingly. "Good. It's about time she learned how to keep a proper house! I'm glad you realize that."

"That's not why," Lili piped up. "It's cause she's being _punished._ She was really bad yesterday!"

"Shut up!" snapped Mimi.

"That's enough, girls!" Belle said firmly. She had hoped to keep the mood pleasant, or at least as pleasant as possible. She touched Mimi under the chin. "I know you'll do a good job helping Mme. Nettoyage," she said encouragingly. "Listen to what she says and be respectful."

Belle wondered if this was such a good idea after all. Mimi needed to learn the consequences of her actions, but now it occurred to her that she might be inadvertently punishing poor old Mme. Nettoyage in the process. Mimi in a defiant mood was not fun to be around, and the stormy look on the girl's face did not bode well.

Belle suddenly had an idea. "Listen, Mimi. If you work _very_ hard today, and do everything Mme. Nettoyage tells you, we'll cut two days off your punishment and end it on Sunday. All right?" Mimi perked up at the idea, as Belle had hoped she would. She went on, "_But..._if you shirk your work, and give Mme. Nettoyage a hard time, we'll _add _two days, and you'll be grounded till next Thursday. That's fair, isn't it? Behave well, and you can get time off."

"Well...okay," Mimi said. Belle breathed a sigh of relief.

"I'll be at LeFou and Amelie's," she told Mme. Nettoyage. "Please feel free to come get me if you need me."

"We'll be fine," the elderly widow said cheerfully. "Have a good time."

After they left, the housekeeper turned to Mimi. "Now, then. Get the washboard and I'll get the basket of dirty clothes. I'm going to teach you how to do the washing."

Mimi sighed and got the washboard. "This is going to be so boring!" she grumbled.

"None of that!" admonished Mme. Nettoyage. "It's _important_ for you to know how to do these things. No man will want to marry you if you can't keep house! You don't want to be an old maid, do you?"

"If getting married means doing housework all the time, then I'd _rather _be an old maid," declared Mimi.

Mme. Nettoyage was scandalized. "Oh, you mustn't say that! To be unmarried, no man to support you, being a burden on your relatives...it's a terrible fate for a woman!" She shook her head. "No. A woman's job is to cook and clean for her husband."

"My mother doesn't," Mimi pointed out. "Well, not much, anyway. She has you to do it."

The widow frowned. What a sassy mouth this girl had on her, always talking back!

"Well, yes...but there aren't many men willing to spend good money on a housekeeper when they have an able-bodied wife at home, believe me! Your father, bless him, is the exception." She began sorting through the laundry in the basket. "And your mother, well, she's always been a bit...different, you might say. Always with the books! But who am I to say anything? She always has a kind word for me, there's no denying that, and everyone says she's a fine schoolteacher. And if a great man like Gaston thinks it's all right for his wife to work while someone else washes his clothes...well, it's not _my_ place to judge. Besides, if your mother _did _do all the housework, I'd be out of a job! I'm certainly _not_ going to complain about a situation that pays me a good wage!" She picked up the laundry basket. "Now, come with me to the well and we'll get started on this."

Mimi sighed. Her mother had been gone only five minutes, and already Mimi was bored to death. Feeling very sorry for herself, she followed the old woman outside to the well. This day was going to be torture!

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At that moment, Mme. Grognon was on her way to the fishmonger's. Her 16-year-old daughter Paige, Luc's older sister, trailed behind her like a pale, silent ghost.

As Mme. Grognon haggled over the price and questioned the freshness of the fish, she caught sight of Belle and her younger daughter walking in the distance. The mere sight of Belle brought back all her irritation. Never had a woman stood up to her and contradicted her the way that uppity schoolmarm had. To think that when Mme. Grognon had lectured Mimi, Belle had actually reprimanded _her _for correcting the wayward girl! How _dare _she! It was the sacred responsibility of adults to instill proper behavior in children. To be _criticized _for scolding an ill-behaved child – and right in _front _of that child, too! – was an insult not to be borne.

Then later, when Mme. Grognon had informed Belle that the reckless girl had practically _killed _her by running her over, she had been appalled to find that Belle's only concern was for the little hellion, not her victim! She hadn't apologized profusely to Mme. Grognon, or sought to comfort her after her terrible fright, or made her tea. Instead, she'd merely handed Mme. Grognon some money to replace the broken eggs, then practically shoved her out the door, fretting over whether the obnoxious little _brat _was all right!

Mimi's so-called "apology" did not impress Mme. Grognon either – it was obvious that the impudent child didn't mean a word of it. And worse, when Mme. Grognon had again tried to educate her on the proper way a young lady should behave, the girl's brute of a father had shown up and actually _shouted _at Mme. Grognon for daring to chastise his precious offspring! Clearly the man was cut from the same cloth as his presumptuous wife.

The girl was bound to come to a bad end, running wild as she did. Yet her parents simply allowed her to get away with it. And to think that Belle was allowed to teach impressionable schoolchildren! It was nothing short of scandalous, Mme. Grognon thought.

Her only comfort was that her own daughter, Paige, was already 16, too old for school and hence safe from the unhealthy influence of that irresponsible woman. Mme. Grognon smiled approvingly as the quiet, obedient girl carefully placed the wrapped fish into her basket. _She_ was everything a girl should be. Unfortunately Luc _did _have to attend the school, but he was a boy – she knew he could hold his own.

"There's that schoolmarm, I see," Mme. Grognon commented to a nearby plump, red-haired woman who was buying vegetables. "I must say, from what I've seen so far, she has no business being in a classroom!"

"Belle?" replied the woman in surprise, looking up. "Oh, my, no, Belle's a _wonderful _teacher! All the children love her."

Mme. Grognon was taken aback, but quickly rallied. "Well, her _daughter_ is the most unruly girl I've ever seen!"

To her great irritation, the woman actually _chuckled_. "Mimi? Yes, she's quite the tomboy, isn't she?" she said fondly. "But I'm sure she'll grow out of it - they all do. With Belle and Gaston as parents, she'll turn out fine." She finished paying for her vegetables. "Anyway, I have to go now. Excuse me." She hurried off, calling "Belle! Are you going to Amelie's? I'll walk with you."

"Oh, hi, Cecile!" replied Belle in the distance, waving to her friend.

Miffed, Mme. Grognon turned away.

A voice spoke behind her. "So _you_ don't love Belle either, I take it."

Mme. Grognon turned and for a moment, thought she was seeing things. In front of her were three identical blonde women.

"Oh...Hello," she said, covering her confusion. "I'm Mathilde Grognon. My husband is the new minister for the village," she added with pride. "This is my daughter Paige."

"Glad to meet you. I'm Bambi," said one of the women. "These are my sisters, Bunny and Bubbles. Anyway..." She leaned in close and spoke confidentially. "It's _so_ nice to meet someone else who sees through Belle. Everyone else here thinks she's so wonderful."

"It wasn't always like that, though," Bubbles reminded her. "When she first came here, no one liked her, remember?"

"That's true," agreed Bunny, adding to Mme. Grognon, "But then she worked her wiles and snared Gaston..." She took a moment to sigh over the thought of Gaston and what might have been. "And before you know it, she had him wrapped around her little finger. Gaston's the most powerful man in town, so of _course _people have to like his wife...or at least, pretend they do."

"Really?" Mme. Grognon was always eager to hear gossip, especially about someone she disliked.

Bambi nodded with a look of disgust. "So now Belle gets whatever she wants. She got Gaston to talk the council into giving her the teaching job – we never had a woman teacher before that. She even got him to hire a _housekeeper!"_ she added petulantly, trying to keep the envy out of her voice. "Because Belle is too _good _to cook and clean and sew like the rest of us."

"Hmph," Mme. Grognon said disapprovingly. "She sounds very lazy and spoiled. No wonder her daughter is running wild – she can't be bothered to discipline her!"

She turned to her own daughter. "Paige, dear, why don't you take that fish home before it spoils? And make lunch for your brother – he must be home by now. I'll be along later."

"Yes, Mother," Paige replied submissively, and headed for home.

Mme. Grognon turned back to the blondes. "Now then...you were saying?"

Bambi smiled cattily, pleased at the through of dishing more dirt. "Why don't we go back to my house and have some coffee? We'll fill you in."

"That would be lovely." Happily, Mme. Grognon went off with her new friends.

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Belle and Cecile chatted as they walked to Amelie's. Cecile wanted to know why that new woman seemed so put out with Belle, so Belle told her about the incidents of the day before.

She had just finished the story as they knocked on Amelie's door. Belle's spirits lifted. She always looked forward to Wednesday afternoons: a chance to sit down, relax, and unwind with her good friends.

Monique answered the door. "Hi, Belle! Amelie's with the baby, so I told her not to get up. Come on in!"

Belle, Cecile and Lili followed Monique into the living room, where Amelie and Josette greeted them. Amelie was on the couch, nursing her new baby, while her younger son, 6-year-old Denis, sat next to her. Denis' older brother, 11-year-old Henri, was having a snack of milk and cookies by the coffee table. A pot of tea rested on the table as well.

Lili's eyes lit up at the sight of the baby that Amelie held in her arms. She ran over and cooed, "Hi, Aimée!" She looked at Amelie. "Can I hold her?" she asked hopefully.

Amelie smiled. "Of course," she said, having finished nursing. She settled the little girl on the couch, then carefully put baby Aimée in her arms, resting on her lap.

"Isn't she cute, Lili?" said Denis, proud to be a big brother. "I help take care of her sometimes."

"That's right!" Amelie said, smiling at him.

"Ooh, you're so lucky!" Lili said.

Amelie took the baby back from Lili. "You did a wonderful job holding her, Lili."

Denis said, "Lili, I just got some new spinning tops - want to come to my room and play?"

"Sure!" Lili said eagerly. She and Denis ran upstairs.

Amelie's husband, LeFou, came in. "Hello, ladies," he said cheerfully. He broke into a big smile at the sight of the baby. "Ah, there's my little angel!" He picked up the baby and cooed to her. "Who's a pretty girl? Who's the sweetest?" He beamed at the women. "Isn't she beautiful? Just like my Amelie."

Amelie blushed at the compliment. "Oh, honey, I made some of those cookies you like," she said, pointing at the platter.

"Oh, thanks!" He handed the baby back to her, took one of the cookies from the platter and bit into it. "Mmm, Amelie, you make the best cookies in town!"

Amelie smiled. "Thanks. How's the harvesting going?"

"Good. But I could use a hand." He looked at Henri. "How about it? Feel like helping out your old man? When you're done eating, of course."

"Sure, Pop. I'm done." Henri put down his glass of milk, wiped his mouth and stood up.

"Does Denis want to help?" LeFou asked Amelie.

"He's upstairs playing with Lili," she told him.

"Oh, let them play, then. We can handle it, right, Henri?" The boy grinned and nodded. LeFou put his arm around his son's shoulder and they went outside.

When they were gone, Josette leaned forward confidingly. "You know, Amelie, I have to hand it to you. When we were younger and you first told us you liked LeFou, I thought you were _crazy_. He was so short and funny-looking, I couldn't _imagine_ what you saw in him!" The other women exchanged a glance and smiled ruefully. Josette was not known for her tact. Josette went on, "But he really turned out to be a great guy. I guess you were smarter than I thought!"

"He was _always_ a great guy. People just didn't see it," Amelie said. "He didn't even see it himself, to be honest."

"Oh?" said Belle curiously. LeFou had always seemed cheerful to her – she had never heard him complain about anything.

Amelie nodded, gently putting Aimée into the bassinet next to the couch. "Yes, he grew up without a mother, and his father...well, he wasn't the nicest person. He was always criticizing LeFou and telling him he wouldn't amount to anything. And some of the boys used to pick on him for being small and not being strong or able to shoot well and things like that." She poured herself a cup of tea, looking a bit sad. "I think that's why he used to follow Gaston around so much. He felt like he wasn't good at anything, so the best he could do was help someone who _was. _But the thing about LeFou is...he _does _have a lot of great qualities. He just didn't realize it. He's loyal, and dedicated, and hard-working, and when he has a job to do, he sticks to it till it's done.

"When we got married and he started working with my father...well, Pa thought the world of him," she went on, sipping her tea. She smiled reminiscently. "I remember now nervous he was the first time he went to work with my father! He'd never done any farming before, and he was _so_ afraid he'd mess up somehow and that Pa would get mad at him."

"Your Pa, mad?" Monique said in surprise. "Your father was the most patient man I ever met! I'm sure he wouldn't have gotten mad."

"I know," Amelie agreed. "I kept telling LeFou it would be fine, but he wanted so much to make a good impression. Anyway, Pa explained to him how to plant a field, and just asked him to do a quarter of the field – he didn't want to push him too much on the first day. But when Pa came out later, he saw LeFou had gone on and done the _entire _field. He hadn't even stopped to take a break. And he'd done it _so_ carefully, everything exactly six inches apart, just like Pa said. Pa said he'd never seen anyone do such a good job! And LeFou...well, he just _beamed. _He really blossomed after that. He has so much more confidence in himself these days."

"It sounds like he just needed someone to believe in him," Belle said, touched by the story. "Which was you. You deserve a lot of credit, Amelie. Most people don't look beyond appearances."

"I know, and it's a shame. People overlook a lot of good things that way. Although in this case, I'm glad, because I got a great guy all to myself without any competition!" Amelie said with a laugh. "When Pa died last year, the first thing LeFou did was tell my mother not to worry, that she always has a home here with us. He treats her like gold – if he comes into the room and she's there, he always asks her if she wants a cup of tea, if she's warm enough, does she need a blanket? She tells everyone how lucky she is to have such a wonderful son-in-law."

Josette sighed enviously. "That is _so _sweet! Why didn't I do that? No, I know why – I was too busy going for the _cute_ guys!" She giggled.

"But you and Gerard are happy, aren't you?" asked Amelie.

"Oh, sure," Josette said. "He's not too fond of my mother, though. Calls her a meddling old battleax behind her back." The women laughed.

"Well, girls, we should probably start getting some work done, or they'll call us a _gabbing _circle instead of a sewing circle," Monique joked.

"Which we _are,_ but we should probably at least pretend!" Cecile added with a grin.

The women took out their sewing and set to work as they talked. Belle opened her basket and pulled out a partially-finished knit wool cap. She made a face as she held it up. "Oh, this looks _awful!"_ she said ruefully. "I can't give this to Gaston for Christmas! Why on _earth_ did I think I could make a cap when I'd never knitted before?"

Josette peered at the cap, which featured several unsightly gaps. "Yeah, that's pretty terrible," she agreed cheerfully. "Why don't you just buy him one?"

Belle sighed. "Oh, but that would ruin it!" she said unhappily. "Usually I _do _buy him something. But this year, I really wanted to do something different. You see, before Gaston met me, he always expected to marry a girl who was a perfect cook and housekeeper and who would do everything for him. But then...he fell in love with _me _instead_." _She smiled at the memory. "I was so different from what he thought he wanted! But he's been so supportive all these years. He gave me my own private library, he takes me on trips to far-off places...he even hired a housekeeper to do the cooking and cleaning so I could focus on my teaching. He's been wonderful. So this year, I wanted to do something more personal than just plunking down money on a counter, you know? I wanted to make him something with my own two hands, something I put my time and effort and _love_ into. Something domestic and 'housewifey,' just this once, to show him how much I love him and appreciate him."

"That's a really nice idea," Amelie said with a smile.

"Well, I _thought _it was a nice idea, until I actually tried to _do _it," Belle said, shaking her head. "But look at this! I can't give him a cap full of holes!"

Cecile nodded decisively. "Yes, you can. Here's what you do," she said briskly. "After he gives you your present, don't give this to him right away. Instead, say 'Honey, I love you so much that I wanted to make you something all by myself – something as wonderful as _you _are. I spent _months_ on it, working my fingers to the bone, staying up late, trying _so _hard to get it perfect! But...it didn't come out right. I tried so hard, but it's no good! It's not worthy of you. You deserve so much _better!'_ And then start crying, like you're utterly heartbroken. Trust me – you do all that, he'll be falling all over himself to reassure you how much he _loves _the cap!"

The other women laughed. Cecile was always full of practical advice on how to "handle" men. There was no arguing with the effectiveness of her approach: she had been happily married for 20 years and her husband Emile adored her. But though Belle was amused by Cecile's suggestion, she herself was too honest and straightforward to follow it. She wasn't able to "put on an act" to get what she wanted. "Thanks, but I'd rather find a way to make this better...somehow."

Monique took the cap from Belle and examined it. "Oh, here's your problem - you dropped some stitches along the way, but you just kept going."

Belle looked embarrassed. "I didn't know what else to do."

"It's okay, we can fix it," Monique said reassuringly. "Here...just take your crochet hook and catch the bottom piece of yarn and pull it through the loop of the dropped stitch. Like this, see?" She demonstrated. "Then keep pulling it forward and over the next piece...You try it."

Belle concentrated and tried to follow Monique's instructions. "Oh, thanks, Monique! That does look a lot better." She smiled. "I guess knitting isn't my strong point."

"No. But you _are _great at teaching," Amelie said reassuringly. "So, while we're here...how are my boys doing in school?"

"Oh, they're doing very well..." Belle went on to fill her friends in on their children's progress, and they chatted away as the afternoon wore on.

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While his mother was talking with her friends, Alain was at the marketplace, standing outside the gunsmith's shop, debating whether to go in. Was this the best time - the right course of action?

He weighed the pros and cons. In June, he would be done with school, and it would be time to become apprenticed and learn a trade. More than anything, he wanted that trade to be gunsmithing. He loved working with machines, exploring the intricacies of their inner workings, figuring out what was wrong when they malfunctioned and repairing them. Guns were among the most complex mechanisms around – it would be fascinating to work with them. Not only that, but guns were so necessary and important to life in the village, which meant that a gunsmith here was ensured a good living. And if Alain became a gunsmith himself, he could eventually get his own shop and expand it to a repair shop for all _kinds _of machines. That would be heaven to him.

So, this was definitely the trade he wanted. He had discussed it with Grandpa, who had agreed wholeheartedly that it was a good idea. The question was...was this the right time to ask? It was only September...he had nine months of school left. Maybe it was too soon.

On the other hand, if he waited until he finished school and was ready to start, it might be too late. It might turn out that Monsieur Armurier didn't _want_ an apprentice – or maybe he did, but the position would have already been filled by then. Then Alain would have to scramble to find something else to do because he'd waited too long.

Alain nodded, making his decision. Now was the time to ask. He needed to let Monsieur Armurier know he was interested and find out if he even had a chance.

He took a deep breath, gathering his nerve to go in...yet he hesitated. What if the gunsmith turned him down? The thought was almost too disappointing to bear.

But then he straightened his back and told himself firmly, _If he's going to turn me down, it's better to know NOW, so I can figure out something else to do_. With this logic in mind, he pushed the door open and went inside.

Monsieur Armurier was busy with a customer, so Alain hung back politely and waited, looking around the shop. He was fascinated by everything he saw: the long worktable, the rows of woodworking and metalworking tools on the wall, the powder horns, the boxes of ammunition and other supplies, the variety of different types of guns in various stages of assembly. He was surprised to see a broken spinning wheel in one corner. He wondered what it was doing here, and leaned forward to inspect it, so engrossed he almost forgot why he was there.

"So, Alain, what can I do for you?" The brisk voice interrupted Alain's thoughts. The gunsmith was looking at him expectantly as his customer left the shop. "Does your pa need a new hunting rifle, or just need one of his repaired?"

"No, sir," Alain said, straightening up. "I was wondering if I could talk to you for a minute...if you're not too busy."'

Monsieur Armurier laughed. "I'm _always _busy, especially this time of year! It's prime hunting season – I've got more guns to make and repair than I can count! But I can talk while I'm working." He went over to the worktable, sat down, picked up a half-built rifle, and began expertly sanding the wooden stock to a smooth finish. "What's on your mind?"

"Well, sir, I was wondering...if you might consider taking on an apprentice."

Monsieur Armurier stopped sanding and looked up at Alain in surprise. "Funny you should bring that up. Just the other day I was saying to my wife that with all the work I've gotten lately, it's time to bring in some help. I was actually planning to start asking around for an apprentice as soon as I had a spare minute."

"Really?" Alain's heart leaped with hope. He was so glad he'd come in to ask.

The gunsmith studied Alain appraisingly. "I take it you're proposing yourself for the job? It's not an easy trade, gunsmithing," he warned. "There's a lot more to it than many people realize. A true gunsmith isn't doing just _one _trade: he's a blacksmith, founder, engraver, silversmith and woodworker, all in one. He's got to forge iron over red-hot coals, hammer metal into shape, carve and craft a wooden stock as good as a carpenter, engrave the barrel, work with tiny tools to get the bore to exact specifications and make sure all the inner workings are in precise alignment, not even a hair's breadth off. You really think you're up to all that?"

Alain's eyes were shining. He could learn so much here! "Oh, yes, sir!" he said enthusiastically. "I've been working with all kinds of machines since I was little. I'm always fixing things around the house for my mother and father. And I spend a lot of time in my grandfather's workshop. He's taught me a lot about how machines work and how to fix them. I even helped fix my dad's rifle the other day," he added proudly.

Monsieur Armurer nodded. "Yep, Maurice mentioned that to me this morning."

"You saw my grandfather today?" Alain asked in surprise.

"Yes, he came by to pick up some tools, and we got to talking. He was bragging about you, telling me what a sharp eye and keen mind you have when it comes to fixing things. He was was pleased as punch about the way you figured out what was wrong with your pa's gun."

Alain smiled. Good old Grandpa. Alain could just picture him coming by here and "casually" talking up Alain, trying to give the man a favorable impression before Alain even got here.

Monsieur Armurier rubbed his chin thoughtfully, considering. Then he seemed to make up his mind. "All right then," he said decisively. "If you're truly serious about this, I'll speak to your father about it and we'll have a proper apprenticeship contract drawn up. You can start on Monday."

"Monday?" Alain was startled. "Oh...I didn't expect it to be so soon."

Monsieur Armurier gave him a sharp look. "Not backing out on me so soon, are you?"

"Oh, no, sir!" Alain said hastily. "It's just that I'm still in school."

"Still in school?" Monsieur Armurier raised his eyebrows. "How old _are_ you, boy?"

"I'm 14, sir. I'll be 15 in May. I finish school in June – I thought I could start working then."

Monsieur Armurier shook his head disapprovingly. "A big boy like yourself, practically a grown man, still in school! In my day, the school only went to age 10. No man needs more schooling than that to my mind, unless he's going to be a scribe or an apothecary or some such. We pulled our Suzette out of school when _she_ was 10 – she can learn far more about how to be a good wife by helping her mother around the house than by sitting at a school desk! But I suppose, with your mother being the schoolmarm and all, she likely sees more worth to formal education than I do," he added.

"Yes, sir," Alain affirmed respectfully.

"Well, I'm very sorry, Alain, but I really need help in the shop _now," _the gunsmith said, standing up. "I'm swamped with work as it is. I can't be waiting till next summer to get started on this. Unfortunately, if you can't be available when I need you, I'm going to have to look for someone else. It's too bad – I think you would have been good for the job."

The bell over the door jingled as a customer entered the shop. "Excuse me," Monsieur Armurier said, and went to help the customer.

Alain stared, horrified. He couldn't believe it. His golden chance was about to slip through his fingers forever! He couldn't let that happen. "Wait!" he said desperately.

The gunsmith turned. "Yes?"

"Let me talk to my parents," Alain said quickly. "Maybe I can get them to let me quit school early. It's only a few months, after all."

Monsieur Armurier thought about that for a moment, then nodded. "All right. You talk to them and let me know if they're agreeable. You do seem like a bright boy, and I certainly could use the help. I'll keep the position open for a week or two. But I really can't wait any longer than that."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," Alain said, bowing slightly, and hurried out the door.

Outside, he just stood there anxiously. What was he going to do? He couldn't lose his chance to be a gunsmith – he just _couldn't! _But his mother would _never_ let him quit school. She always said a good education was like a treasure you carried with you throughout your life. And she was the town schoolmistress, after all! How would it look if her own _son _quit school early?

But if he stayed in school, Monsieur Armurier would give the prized apprenticeship to someone else. Alain felt a pang at the thought.

He needed to talk to someone, he decided. Someone who understood. Straightening up, he set off for his grandfather's house.


	6. Household Drudgery

Mimi stood outside by the well with the basket of dirty clothes and the washboard. Mme. Nettoyage had shown her what to do, then gone inside to clean the house. Mimi looked longingly at the distant green hills, wishing she could go play.

Then, with a look of resolve, she settled down to wash the clothes. Mama had said she would get time off being grounded if she did a good job, so she was determined to do the best job _ever._ For _once_ she was going to make Mama happy, instead of getting in trouble like usual. She could just picture Mama's face when she came home. "Mimi! What a beautiful job you did!" she'd say, and give Mimi a hug. "I'm so proud of you!"

Cheered by this thought, Mimi set to work. Mme. Nettoyage had heated a large bucket of hot water for her. Mimi poured the hot water into the washtub, added some lye soap, then put in the clothes.

She stirred the clothes around in the soapy water with a long stick for a while, then used the stick to pull out a dress. She rubbed a cake of soap on the garment, then started scrubbing it against the washboard, leaning over the tub.

It was hard work, and soon her arms and back were aching. Her enthusiasm and energy were quickly fading. There were still so many clothes to do – she would _never _finish!

Sighing, she pulled out the next garment. It was her father's shirt, which had a huge stain on it.

To her annoyance, the stain just would NOT come out! She rubbed more soap on it and scrubbed harder, feeling more and more frustrated. She'd promised to do a good job, and darn it, she was _going to _do a good job! That stupid stain was going to come out if it _killed _her!

She scrubbed angrily at the stain as hard as she could. Suddenly she heard a ripping sound. With a sinking feeling, she held up the shirt, which now featured a big hole where the stain had been. Mimi stared at it in horror. "Uh-oh..." This was Papa's favorite shirt, too! He'd be so mad!

Mme. Nettoyage came outside. "So, how are you doing with the washing?" she asked cheerfully.

Mimi gulped and held up the shirt. "I'm sorry," she said in a small voice. "The stain just wouldn't come out! I guess I rubbed too hard."

"Oh, my," Mme. Nettoyage said, her smile fading as she saw the hole. Then, seeing how upset Mimi was, she added, "Don't fret, dear. I'll just have to mend it, that's all. I'll tell you what – I'll finish up the clothes, and you go wash the kitchen floor. All right?"

Mimi brightened. Washing a floor didn't sound too hard. "Okay!"

As it turned out, washing the floor was a lot harder than she'd expected. It was tiring work, hunkered down on her hands and knees, scrubbing the floor with soapy water and a brush. Her hands and knees were soaking wet. She tried to pretend that she was on a leaky raft in the middle of the ocean. The stains on the floor were sharks trying to eat her. She had to rub them out with the scrub brush before it was too late!

That helped a little, and finally the floor was clean. She grabbed some rags and wiped it down to dry it, then eagerly ran outside where Mme. Nettoyage was finishing washing the clothes. "Mme. Nettoyage, I finished!" she called.

"Oh, let me see!"

Mimi ran to the kitchen to show her, followed by the old housekeeper. Mimi had missed a few spots, but Mme. Nettoyage didn't mention it. "You did a lovely job!" she said. Mimi beamed. "Now all that's left is to cook dinner," the housekeeper went on. "I'll get the soup started, and then you can stir it while I do the rest of the cooking."

Mimi's spirits lifted. Cleaning the floor had been boring and tiring, but at least it was _done, _and the floor looked really good. _Mama will be so happy with the great job I did, she'll DEFINITELY give me the two days off for good behavior! _she thought happily. _Now the only thing I have left to do is stir some soup. That'll be easy! _And then, _finally,_ this long, horrible day would be over. Mimi couldn't wait.

Stirring the soup _was _easy. It was so easy that as Mimi moved the spoon in circles, over and over, she got bored and began to daydream. She was out in the woods with her father, learning how to hunt. She brought down a deer on her very first try – the biggest stag in the history of the village! Everyone cheered for her. She was the best hunter anyone had ever seen...

A sudden scream from Mme. Nettoyage woke her from her reverie. Lost in her thoughts, Mimi had inadvertently leaned too close to the fire. The long sleeves she'd rolled up had fallen loose, and the flame had licked at one dangling sleeve, setting it alight.

Mimi shrieked in terror at the sight of her sleeve on fire. Frantically, she whirled around, waving her arm as if she could somehow shake off the flame. Her arm brushed against the top of the kitchen table, burning it. "HELP!" Mimi screamed.

Georges had heard the screams and raced down the stairs two at a time. Taking in the scene instantly, he quickly grabbed the bucket of water that stood in the corner and threw it over Mimi, drenching her and putting out the fire.

"Are you all right?" he asked Mimi anxiously.

"I-I think so," Mimi said shakily. She rolled up her dripping, burned sleeve and looked at her forearm. Luckily she was unharmed; the dangling sleeve had burned, but the flame itself had not touched her skin before Georges put it out.

Mme. Nettoyage had to sit down for a spell after that severe fright, taking deep breaths to try to calm her nerves.

Mimi brought her a cup of water. "I'm really sorry," she said.

"It's all right, child. It was an accident. I'm just thankful you weren't hurt." Mme. Nettoyage managed a smile. "It's a good thing Georges was here."

"The kitchen table got burned, though," Georges said, looking at it. Mme. Nettoyage and Mimi came over to inspect the damage. There was a huge scorch mark on the top of the table.

"Oh, _no!"_ Mimi wailed. "Look at that!"

"Now, now," Mme. Nettoyage said comfortingly. "The important thing is that we're all safe. A table can be replaced, but a child can't."

Mimi nodded morosely, but she didn't feel any better as she went to change her wet clothes. _I almost burned the whole HOUSE down! _she thought. _I'm terrible at this! _She had wanted _so _much to do a good job and make Mama happy, but everything she did went wrong.

She was close to crying, but with an effort, she forced the tears back. _I NEVER cry, _she told herself fiercely. _I'm strong and tough, just like Papa. I'm not a little baby!_

If only this day would _end!_

O o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

As Gaston headed towards home, he heard footsteps behind him. He turned to see a stranger approaching him – a thin, balding man.

"Bonsoir," the man said politely as he caught up to Gaston. "Are you Gaston Avenant?"

"Yes, of course," Gaston said in surprise. Was there actually someone who _didn't _know who he was? It seemed unthinkable.

The man held out his hand. "I'm glad to meet you. My name is Eugène Grognon."

Gaston took his hand and shook it. "Hello." Then the significance of the name hit him. "Grognon?" Unconsciously his fists clenched as he remembered the previous day's events. "Listen, pal, your wife was _very_ rude to my wife and daughter yesterday! I'm not going to stand for that!"

Then he noticed the man's clothes. He took a hasty step back, realizing belatedly that he was talking to a clergyman. "Uh, with all due respect, Reverend," he added awkwardly.

But Eugène didn't seem offended. "Yes, I heard about that," he sighed. "I sincerely apologize. I'm very sorry if my wife offended you or your family."

"Well...all right," Gaston said, slightly mollified. "And I'm sorry about Mimi scaring your wife with the horse. We grounded her for that. But she didn't mean any harm - she's really a great kid. And Belle's the best teacher this town ever had!" he added, bragging.

"I'm sure," Eugène said placatingly. "Mathilde means well, but I'm afraid she's a bit...well..." Eugène searched for a diplomatic word. "...outspoken, you might say," he finished. "She has very strong opinions of what's right and wrong, and she feels it's her duty to speak up about it... no matter what I might say," he added, a bit ruefully.

Gaston smiled. "Well, don't worry about it," he reassured Eugène."This town is _full _of gossippy old biddies. She'll fit in just fine!"

Then, realizing that that could be taken as an insult, he added quickly, "No offense."

"None taken," Eugène said, looking amused. "Well, I'll let you get home to your supper. I just wanted to introduce myself. We just moved here, and everyone told me you're the most important man in town."

"That's right, I am," Gaston said, pleased.

"It was a pleasure to meet you," Eugène said. "I hope I'll see you on Sunday."

"Sure," Gaston said cheerfully, and headed for home. _Nice guy, _he thought. _Too bad he's so henpecked!_

O o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

Back at the house, Belle and Lili had just come home. "We're back!" Belle said. She looked at Mimi and Mme. Nettoyage in anticipation. "How did it go today?"

Mimi just looked at the floor miserably. Now Mme. Nettoyage would tell her mother about all her mistakes - the ripped shirt, the fire – and there was no way _that _would count as "doing a good job." Not only had she had a horrible day doing housework, but now she'd be grounded for two _extra _days! She couldn't bear it.

But to her amazement, Mme. Nettoyage only said, "Mimi worked _very_ hard today. She was a big help to me!"

Mimi looked up in surprise and relief. _That was really nice of her,_ she thought.

Belle smiled. "Oh, that's good to..." Her voice trailed off in dismay as her gaze fell on the burned table. Mme. Nettoyage caught her eye and quickly shook her head, putting her finger to her lips. She tilted her head to indicate Mimi.

Belle got the message. She forced a broad smile. "That's...wonderful! Just...wonderful. I can certainly see how hard you worked today, Mimi."

"Thanks, Mama," Mimi said gratefully. Then she hesitated, feeling conflicted. She _knew _she should quit while she was ahead and keep her mouth shut...but she couldn't help feeling guilty. "Uh...Mama? There was a little accident today," she admitted in a small voice. She went over to the table and pointed at the scorch mark. "I'm really sorry," she said pleadingly. "I didn't _mean_ to do it."

Belle was touched by Mimi's honesty. She could see how upset Mimi was about the table. She went and looked at it. "Oh, that little mark? Why, that's nothing! I didn't even notice it till you pointed it out," she lied. "And you know, this table is so old and warped, I've been asking your father to replace it for a while anyway. This will finally give him a reason to do it."

"Really?" Mimi brightened. "So it was a _good _thing!" Feeling better, she added, "Mama, Georges was really brave today! He's the one who put out the fire."

"Oh, good work, Georges!" Belle said. Georges smiled, pleased.

Mme. Nettoyage spoke up. "Mimi, since you worked so hard today, I don't see _any _need for you to help me on Friday."

"Oh, are you sure?" Mimi asked, surprised. "I'm supposed to help all week."

"Oh, no, no!" Mme. Nettoyage said hastily. "Really, child, it's _quite _all right! You've certainly earned the time off. Don't you agree, Belle?" she asked, practically begging.

Belle suppressed a smile. "All right," she said. "Mimi, you don't have to help on Friday. And I'll keep my promise: you worked hard, so we'll take two days off your punishment. You'll only be grounded till Sunday."

"Yay!" Mimi said happily.

"Well, I'm off," Mme. Nettoyage said, putting on her coat. "Dinner's all ready and in the oven for you."

"Thank you," Belle said, walking her to the door and following her outside. Surreptitiously she slipped some money into the old woman's hand, whispering, "Here – just a little extra. I'd say you earned it! Thank you for being so kind to Mimi."

Mme. Nettoyage smiled. "Well...there _were _a few mishaps," she admitted. "But the important thing is, she _tried._"

"Yes," Belle agreed. "Have a good evening!" She waved as the housekeeper left, then went back inside, where Mimi was sitting on the couch.

"Mama, _please _don't ever give me that for a punishment again," Mimi begged. "I HATE housework! It's so boring!"

"I know how you feel," Belle admitted, sitting next to her. "Of course it has to get done, and I'm very grateful to Mme. Nettoyage for all she does for us. But to be honest, I don't enjoy doing it either. I remember when I was younger, keeping house for my father, everyone in town assuming that the _only_ thing a girl could possibly do in life was get married and keep house for her husband...I kept thinking 'Is that _it?_ Is that all there is?' It sounded so tedious. I would read my stories and wish that I could have adventure and excitement instead."

"Me too!" Mimi said eagerly, looking at her mother with new appreciation. "I'd _hate_ to have to just cook and clean all the time. I'd rather be out hunting and having adventures!"

"You can be anything you want to be, Mimi," Belle said seriously. She fondly pushed Mimi's hair back off her face. "Don't _ever_ let people limit you or tell you you can't do something. If you have big dreams, make them come true."

"I will," Mimi said gratefully. Maybe Mama did understand how she felt, at least a little.

The front door opened. "Hello, everybody!" Gaston said jovially, entering the house. Then he noticed the table and frowned. "Hey! What happened to—"

"_Darling!"_ Belle cried hastily, springing off the couch and running to him. She threw her arms around him and planted her mouth on his, silencing him with a kiss. Then, as she embraced him, she whispered in his ear, "Shh! Don't say anything about the table. We'll talk later."

"Oh, I see," Gaston whispered back, amused. "Sounds like there was some excitement here today."

"You could say that," Belle said with a rueful smile.

Mimi, Lili and Georges ran to greet their father, and Belle went to set the table. "I wonder where Alain is?" she said. "He said he had something he needed to do today, but he's not usually late."

At that moment, Alain himself came in, followed by Maurice. "Oh, hello, Papa!" Belle said, her eyes lighting up. She went over to her father and kissed him. "This is a nice surprise! Are you staying for dinner?" Maurice always came to dinner on Sundays – it was a family tradition – but a mid-week visit was an unexpected pleasure.

"I'd certainly like to, if there's room!" Maurice joked.

"You know there's always room for you, " Belle said, smiling as she went to set an extra place at the table.

"Hi Grandpa!" said Lili, running toward him.

He picked her up and kissed her cheek. "Hello there, Lili! I swear, you grow bigger every time I see you!" He turned to Georges. "Hi, Georges! How's the writing going?"

"Good, Grandpa," Georges said with a smile.

Mimi said eagerly, "Grandpa, guess what? I'm going hunting with Papa next week!"

"Really? That's big news!" Maurice said. "I bet you'll bring home a tiger! Or an elephant!" Mimi giggled.

Gaston shook Maurice's hand. "Good to see you, Maurice. Here, sit down." He ushered his father-in-law to a seat at the table.

Alain had stood quietly by while Maurice greeted the family. Now he spoke up. "Listen, everyone...before we sit down to eat...there's something important I have to tell you."

They all exchanged a glance, wondering what was up. "What is it, son?" Gaston asked.

Maurice gave his grandson an encouraging nod. "Tell them, Alain."

Alain took a deep breath. "Well... you know I'm 14 now, almost 15. So...I've been thinking a lot about what I want to do with my life. I like working with machines and fixing things, so I decided the job I want is to be a gunsmith."

"A gunsmith?" Gaston's eyes lit up. "That's _great,_ son! You'll give your pa a discount, won't you?"

"Sure, Pa," Alain said, smiling.

"Oh, Alain, that sounds like a perfect idea for you!" Belle said, impressed with his maturity. "I know you'd be wonderful at it. You're so good at fixing things around the house."

"Thanks, Ma," Alain said. "So anyway, I went to talk to Monsieur Armurier today, to see if he wanted an apprentice. He said he _does _want one. So we talked about it, and he wants me to work for him."

"Of _course_ he does!" Gaston said proudly. "He'd be a fool to say no to _you!_ You'll be the best gunsmith this town ever had! Look at how you fixed my old rifle." He grinned and clapped Alain on the back. "I'm proud of you, son. You know what you want, and you go right out and get it. That's what a _real_ man does – takes the bull by the horns!"

"I'm very proud of you too," Belle said, smiling. "So, will you start in June, right after school ends? Or in the fall?"

"Well...that's the problem," Alain admitted uncomfortably. "See, Monsieur Armurier is really swamped with work right now. That's why he wants an apprentice, to help him out in the wants me to start working for him right away...on Monday."

"Monday?" Belle said in surprise. "But you're still in school."

"I know," Alain said. "But he says he can't wait. If I can't start right away, he's going to give the job to someone else. So..." He hesitated. This was so hard! He braced himself. "I thought maybe...if it was okay with you...I could quit school early? So I could take the job?"

"Quit _school?"_ Belle said in dismay. "Oh, Alain...I don't know about that..."

"Of _course_ you can!" Gaston proclaimed. "An opportunity like this doesn't come along every day! You have to grab it while you can!"

Belle shot him a look. "Gaston, don't you think think we should _talk _about this?"

"What's there to talk about?" Gaston said with a shrug. "The boy's almost 15. He'll be done with school after this year anyway. It's not _that_ important for him to stay till the end. I left school when I was 10, and look how _I _turned out!" he added boastfully, puffing out his chest.

"Well, I _do _think school is important," Belle said, stung at the casual way he was dismissing it. "A good education is _valuable._ It's something you carry with you forever!"

Georges spoke up. "Uh...Can I say something?" he asked tentatively.

"Of course, honey," Belle said, softening as she turned to him.

Georges hesitated. He knew how important it was to Mama that they all get a good education. He didn't want to upset her...but he also knew how much this opportunity meant to his brother. "I think school is important too. But if this is what Alain really wants to do, I think he should do it," Georges said to Belle, almost apologetically. "You're always telling us to follow our hearts and make our dreams come true. This is Alain's dream. But if he waits till school is over, he'll lose his chance."

Maurice nodded. "I have to agree with Georges. Belle, you know I think you've done a marvellous job as a teacher. I've never seen such bright children in all my life, and it's all due to you! But I can tell you, Alain has a real _talent _for working with mechanical devices. This job would be perfect for him. It would be a shame for him to miss out on it."

Belle bit her lip, thinking. "Alain, you know I don't want you to give up your dreams. I just hate to think of you losing a year of school. There's _no_ chance that Monsieur Armurier could wait a few months?"

"No, Ma. I asked him," Alain said. "I didn't want to quit school either. I wouldn't ask to do it if it wasn't important." Suddenly he brightened. "Listen, Ma, I have an idea! If you let me do this, then when I get home from work every day, you can sit down and teach me whatever you would have taught me in school. And I promise I'll study hard – just as hard as if I was still in school. Okay?" He looked at her hopefully.

Belle touched his cheek gently. "You're such a good boy, Alain." She smiled. "All right. I can see how much this means to you. I don't want to stand in the way of your future."

"Thanks, Ma!" Overcome with relief, he hugged her tightly.

"Oh! _That's_ a nice bonus!" Belle laughed, hugging him back. Alain was at the age where hugging one's mother seemed "babyish" to a boy. It was nice to get such unexpected affection from her almost-grown son.

"Great! Then it's all settled," Gaston said, beaming. "Tomorrow we'll go see Monsieur Armurier together and work out all the details. Oh, and Monday night after work, I'll take you to the tavern to celebrate your first day on the job!"

"The _tavern?" _Belle said, startled. "Gaston! I don't want him growing up _that _fast! He's only 14!"

"Just _one _drink," Gaston promised. "A toast to his success. Come on, Belle, it's his first real job! He deserves it."

"_Well_...all right. Just _one_ toast. That's _all,"_" Belle said firmly. "And you'd _better_ stick to that! Alain always tells the truth, remember."

"Just one. I promise," Gaston said, smiling, dramatically putting his hand over his heart. He liked the way Belle looked out for their children. His own mother had been protective like that too.

Mimi spoke up. "Mama, can I quit school too?"

"No, you may _not!"_ Belle said.

Mimi scowled. "Alain is so lucky! Why do _I _have to go to school?"

Gaston laughed. "Because you're only nine, and you don't have a job," he pointed out.

Little Lili looked up at her brother, her eyes big. "Alain, are you a grown-up now?" she asked in awe.

"Just about," Gaston said proudly. "He's going to learn a trade and earn his own wages. He's a real man now."

"Yes," Belle said a bit sadly, sitting down.

Gaston went over and sat next to her, putting his arm around her. "What's wrong? Still upset about school?"

"No, not exactly..." she said wistfully, leaning against him. "It's just...they're growing up so _fast._ I mean, I knew that Alain would start looking for work after school ended this year, but I thought I had some time to get _used _to the idea. Now suddenly he's leaving school, getting a job...It's just happening so quickly. It feels like only last month he was a little baby!"

Gaston gave her a squeeze. "I know. I feel the same way. But kids have to grow up sometime."

"Yes," she agreed. "I just wish sometimes that we could stop time, you know? Or...not stop it completely, but just _save _it somehow. Wouldn't that be nice? To capture a moment and then go back to it whenever we want, and remember how the children were then."

"Capture a moment, huh?" Gaston said, almost to himself.

"What?" Belle asked, looking at him curiously.

"Nothing." He stood up and rubbed his hands together. "Well, I'm starved! Let's eat."

They all sat down to dinner, and Alain told them all the details of how he'd gotten the job. Maurice chimed in, saying he'd always known Alain was something special, and told them stories of all the times Alain had helped him with his inventions and figured out how to make them work. Then Gaston began to brag about how smart and strong and good-looking and talented all his kids were. By the time dinner was over, even Belle was smiling.

O o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o oo

The following evening, Monsieur Armurier came home in a good mood. "I'm home!" he called as he entered the house.

His wife Bunny came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron, followed by their blonde daughter, Suzette. "Good. Dinner is ready."

The gunsmith sat down at the table. His wife and daughter served the food, then sat down themselves.

Bunny looked at her husband curiously as they ate. "You look very pleased with yourself, Armand. Good day at work?"

"Yes, indeed," Monsieur Armurier said, cutting his steak. "I finally found an apprentice to help me in the shop. It will make work a lot easier, I can tell you!"

"Oh, that's wonderful," Bunny said, taking a bite of steak. "Who is it?"

"Alain Avenant," he replied.

Bunny dropped her fork. "Alain Avenant? Gaston's boy?" Even after all these years, just saying Gaston's name made her heart beat faster.

Monsieur Armurier nodded. "He came into the shop yesterday and told me he was interested in gunsmithing. Very forthright, very respectful. I like a boy who takes the initiative." He took a drink. "At first he didn't know if his parents would let him leave school, but it all worked out. He and Gaston came to see me today. So we worked out all the details and had Monsieur Liseur draw up a contract." Being the most educated man in town, Monsieur Liseur served as the village scribe as well as bookseller. "He'll start work on Monday."

Bunny's mind was whirling with possibilities. When Gaston had married Belle – and afterward, politely but firmly turned down her not-so-subtle suggestion of a possible "rendezvous" – she had reluctantly accepted that she'd missed her chance, and it was time to look for a different husband before she got left out in the cold. There had been no shortage of suitors vying for the beautiful blondes. Bunny had chosen Armand for three reasons: he was a large, broad-shouldered and muscular man, the kind she found attractive (though nowhere near as handsome as Gaston); he made an excellent living and would provide very well for her; and his gunsmithing shop was the one establishment in town that Gaston frequented the most (aside from the tavern, of course). If she couldn't actually _have _Gaston, at least she still had the pleasure of seeing him and sighing over him (when her husband wasn't looking) every time he came to get one of his guns repaired or buy a new one.

It was too late for her and Gaston, she knew that...but not too late for her daughter. If Bunny couldn't get the prize marriage, maybe Suzette could.

"Armand, that's wonderful news! Not just for your shop...but for Suzette, too," she began.

Armand looked at her, puzzled. "Suzette? I don't follow you."

"Think of the opportunity, Armand! Wouldn't Alain Avenant be an excellent match for our daughter?"

Suzette perked up at the sound of that. "Do you think so, Mama?" She giggled. "He _is _very handsome..."

"Enough of that, you two!" Armand said. "I'm hiring the boy to _work _for me. He has a lot to learn about the trade, and I want him to focus on _that..._not being distracted by girls and sniffing around my daughter! Besides, Suzette is only 14. There's plenty of time yet to find her a husband."

Bunny shook her head. "You have to look _ahead,_ Armand," she persisted. "Don't you want her to be well settled and provided for? Alain would be _perfect _for Suzette." She ticked off the reasons on her fingers. "The Avenants are the most respected and most wealthy family in town. You couldn't have a better background than that! Best of all, if he marries Suzette, you can leave the shop to him. We don't have any sons, after all. The shop could be Suzette's dowry. And since Alain will be working for you all these years and you'll train him yourself, you'll know you're leaving it in good hands. That way, Suzette will be provided for, and the business will stay in the family."

She sat back, pleased with the way she'd laid it all out. _And I'll be part of Gaston's family, and he'll be coming to dinner and family gatherings and I can see him so much more...and Suzette will have the prize catch, the handsomest boy in town. She'll get what I couldn't have. _

Of course, it would mean being nicer to Belle from now on – she couldn't very well go around gossipping and badmouthing her son-in-law's mother! – but it would be well worth it for Suzette's sake, she thought.

Armand stroked his chin thoughtfully, considering. "Well...I'll think about it. But don't start making plans just yet!" he said sternly. "He has a job to do, and I want him to focus on that and work hard, without any distractions. And I'll need to judge what kind of character he has: if he's hardworking, responsible, honest. It'll be a long time before I know if I'll allow this boy to marry my only daughter." He went back to eating, having asserted himself as the man of the house. After all, it was _his _job to decide what was best for his precious girl. But privately, he thought this could be an excellent idea.

"All right, dear. You know best," Bunny said submissively. She gave Suzette a wink of triumph, and Suzette winked back.


	7. Georges' Dilemma

Saturday dawned crisp and clear, the sun shining brightly, the air cool but not too chilly. Gaston got up from the breakfast table and looked out the window. "Looks like a great day for hunting! Finish up eating, boys – we'll head out as soon as you're done!" he said jovially. He paused to ruffle Georges' hair. "I have a feeling you're going to get lucky today, Georges – maybe you'll make your first kill! Wouldn't that be something?"

"Sure, Papa," Georges said quietly.

Whistling, Gaston went into the living room to pack up the supplies and load his rifle.

Mimi and Lili came down the stairs. "Good morning everybody!" Lili sang out gaily, sitting down at the table.

"Good morning, girls," Belle said, smiling, setting out two plates of eggs, toast and bacon for them.

"I'm not hungry," Mimi said grumpily. She stood silently for a few moments, watching the others eat. Then she looked at Belle. "Mama, can't I go with them? Please?" she begged.

Belle was torn. She knew that Mimi was dying to go hunting with the boys, and Belle hated to deprive her. But at the same time, she had done a dangerous, reckless and disobedient thing, and this was one of the consequences her parents had agreed on. As a parent, it was important to be consistent. It would be so easy to just say, "Okay, you can go"…but then, what would happen the next time she wanted to do something dangerous? All it would teach her was that her parents didn't really mean what they said, and that punishments weren't serious – she could wiggle out of them.

"I'm sorry, honey," she said gently. "This is the consequence for taking the horse out without permission. But Papa will take you with him next time, all right? And maybe we can do something fun here at home today."

Mimi scowled. "There's _nothing _fun here at home!" she said, stamping her foot. "I never get to do _anything!" _

"You do lots of fun things," Belle reminded her. "And you'll get to go with Papa _next_ Saturday. It's only a week away. Just be patient." Mimi flung herself down in her chair and crossed her arms, her expression stormy.

Belle sighed and went into the living room where Gaston sat on the couch, loading his rifle. "What was that all about?" he asked, having heard Mimi's angry voice.

"Mimi's upset that she can't go with you today," Belle said, sitting down on the couch next to him. "I feel like the meanest mom in the world."

Gaston laughed and put his arm around her, giving her a reassuring squeeze. "You're a _great_ mom. She's lucky to have you. She just doesn't know it yet."

Belle gave him a wan smile. "Thanks. I'm glad someone thinks so. She's really upset."

Gaston looked sympathetic. "Should we let her off the hook and let her come? She's been grounded a few days already – it's almost over anyway."

"I know, but we made such a big point of this being the punishment – a serious consequence because she did a serious thing," Belle said. "I want her to _learn _from this, and remember it, so that next time she'll think before she acts. If we let her go now, she'll only learn that we're pushovers and that she can get away with anything."

Gaston considered that, then nodded. "That makes sense."

Mimi came into the living room. "Hey, there, wildcat," Gaston said.

"Papa…can't I come with you today? Please?" Mimi wheedled.

"Not this time, sweetheart. We'll go next week, okay?"

Upset, Mimi ran upstairs to her room and slammed the door as hard as she could.

"Poor kid. It's hard to give up a day with _me,"_ Gaston said, putting it in terms of himself, as usual. "But you're right, she has to learn. Still, I don't envy you, being home with her today. She's not going to be easy to live with!"

"I know," Belle said ruefully. "But we'll get through it. It's only one day."

"True." Gaston shouldered his pack and called to the kitchen. "Come on, boys, it's time to go!"

"Coming, Papa!" Alain and Georges put on their coats, grabbed their own rifles, and joined him.

Belle kissed them each goodbye. "Have a good time, boys!"

"Oh, we will," Gaston said cheerfully, and they left the house.

Upstairs, Mimi heard Gaston's booming voice, and then the door slam. She felt like crying. She wanted so much to be out in the woods with them, learning how to hunt and having exciting adventures. Instead, she was stuck in this boring old house all day, with nothing to do. It was so unfair!

O o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

Georges followed his father and brother into the dark forest, leaving the bright fall sunlight behind. He felt apprehensive at the thought of what lay ahead. He wished fervently that he could stay at home instead and read a book.

He hadn't always felt this way. He remembered the first time his father had taken him hunting…

_He had been so excited that day, so eager to go hunting for the first time. For years he had watched Gaston go off with Alain, leaving him home with Mama. Now finally he was a big boy, and it was his turn to join them._

_It had felt so good to be out with them, the men of the family all together. His father was in a jovial mood, and kept talking about how proud he was to have his two fine boys with him. That made Georges feel proud too. _

_His father taught him all about tracking, pointing out all the subtle signs that indicated where deer and other game had been and where they might be heading. Everything Gaston saw was a sign that held meaning to him. Tiny round pellets on the ground were spoor that meant a rabbit had been by. A tree with the bark scraped off in the middle meant a buck had been rubbing its antlers against it. Gaston could look at tracks on the ground and immediately know not only what kind of animal had passed through, but approximately how long ago, based on the condition of the track, and in what direction it had been heading._

_Georges' brother Alain saw tracking as a methodical exercise in problem-solving. He loved logic and puzzles, and to him, tracks and signs were all clues to use in solving the puzzle of trying to find the game. To Georges, however, the tracks and signs were more evocative: the scraped bark of a tree immediately brought to his mind the image of a powerful buck, stamping its hoofs and scraping its mighty antlers against the rough oak. Both boys were very impressed with their father's depth of knowledge._

_It had been a great day for Georges, one of the best of his life…until the actual HUNTING happened. They had settled in a stand, a concealed area downwind that Gaston had judged would be a good place to possibly spot some deer. As he sat there quietly, taking everything in, Georges was awed by the sheer beauty of it all: the mighty trunks of the trees, their leaves forming a green lacy canopy overhead; the unique sound of the forest - so quiet and hushed, yet full of myriad subtle noises, the rustling of leaves and the chirping of birds and the splashing of the brook. Everywhere he looked was a symphony of life: squirrels and chipmunks scampering around, plants growing, even the soil underfoot teeming with tiny creatures. They'd sat there silently for over an hour, and Georges had been in heaven, able to simply sit and commune with nature, imagining how he would describe all this on paper when he got home. He had actually forgotten the real reason they had come._

_Then a buck entered the clearing, powerful and majestic, its branching antlers reaching to the sky. Its sheer size and beauty took Georges' breath away. He had never seen one so close before. He studied it, memorizing every aspect of it._

_And then…the shot had rung out, and the buck fell to the ground. A perfect shot. Alain had been jubilant, congratulating his father. But Georges felt as though he'd been punched in the stomach. _

_He had seen dead deer many times in his life, of course: he was a hunter's son, after all, and venison was a staple at their dinner table. He had never really thought about it before. But now, to see such a graceful, wild creature so suddenly cut down, the life leaving its eyes, shook Georges profoundly. It seemed heartrending to him that something so beautiful should have to die so they could eat. _

_"So, Georges, what do you think of your old man?" Gaston said proudly. "Pretty good shot, eh?"_

_George looked up at him, and couldn't answer._

_Gaston cocked his head. "Something wrong, son?" he asked in concern._

_Georges found his voice. "It's just…it's so sad."_

_Gaston was baffled. "What's sad?"_

_"The deer…" Georges didn't know how to explain. "It's dead."_

_"Yes," Gaston said, puzzled at this statement of the obvious. "I got it. Damn good shot, too. So what's wrong?"_

_"It's just…it was so beautiful, and so alive…and now it's dead. You killed it. It makes me sad," Georges tried to explain. _

_Gaston's eyes widened in surprise. He looked at his son, startled and confused by his comment. Maybe reading all that poetry was getting to him, he thought, concerned. A man needed to be strong and tough. _

_He bent and looked Georges in the eye. "Son…this is what deer are FOR, to provide food and clothes for people," he explained patiently. "We had venison stew for dinner just last night, and you liked it – you even had two helpings! Where do you think it came from?Hunting is important. It's what puts food on the table. Now, some might go to the butcher for meat...but that's just getting someone else to do their work for them. But a hunter relies only on HIMSELF. He goes into the forest and uses all his courage and skill to catch his own dinner and provide food for his family. He doesn't depend on anyone else, and he's strong enough to get the job done. That's what it means to be a REAL man. Understand?"_

_Georges' heart sank as he listened to his father's words. Everything he was saying sounded logical and made sense. And yet…Georges knew in his heart that he just couldn't do it. He couldn't look into the innocent eyes of a defenseless deer or rabbit and purposely KILL it. Just the thought made him feel sick. _

_But how could he possibly tell his father that - his father, the greatest hunter the village had ever seen, with all the trophies and medals to prove it? How could Georges admit to him that he was too soft and weak to do what every other man did without batting an eye? How could he tell his father that he wasn't a "real man"?_

_He couldn't._

_Georges looked up at Gaston, whose brow was furrowed with concern as he waited for his son to answer. Georges forced himself to smile. "You're right, Papa. I was just being silly. It was a great shot. You're the best hunter in the world!"_

_Gaston grinned, clearly relieved. "I sure am!" he agreed. "And you'll be too, wait and see." He patted Georges' head and added kindly, "Well, you're only nine, and this is your first time out here. I guess some kids do get a little squeamish the first time they see blood. But don't worry; you'll toughen up soon enough. You're MY son, after all!" he added proudly._

_"Sure, Papa," Georges agreed quietly. _

Ever since then, Georges had been careful to keep his feelings about hunting to himself. He didn't want his father to think he was "unmanly," and more importantly, he didn't want Papa to be disappointed in him. He loved his father and wanted so much to make him proud. He knew how important it was to Papa to have his two sons by his side, following in his footsteps. Papa's whole _life_ revolved around hunting, and he was so proud of his skill and his trophies. How could Georges possibly tell him that the very thought of deliberately killing something upset him?

So, to make his father happy, he continued to go along on the hunting trips, and even managed to congratulate Gaston and Alain when they made a good shot. For a while, he couldn't even eat venison, but over time, he reluctantly accepted the fact that this was how his family put food on the table. But privately, he vowed that he himself would _never _kill anything, ever. He would find a way to avoid it…somehow.

Up until recently, it had been easy. Since Georges was young and still new at hunting, his father had expected him to simply watch and learn. He would point out tracks and signs and ask Georges what they meant, and was pleased when Georges got it right. He had also taught Georges how to shoot targets at home, and told him to practice.

But now that Georges was 11, Gaston had started saying that it was high time for him to do some _real _hunting. After all, Alain had started bagging game at that age. "You're finally ready to join in – no more sitting around and watching!" Gaston had told Georges, his eyes twinkling. "Bet you can't wait to get in on the action, huh?"

"Sure, Papa," Georges had said weakly, trying to smile.

Gaston took the boys out hunting once or twice a month. Georges would often make a show of shooting, subtly making sure to miss. Given that the deer were often at a far distance, the rabbits were running fast, and the quail and geese were flying overhead, it didn't seem at all strange to Gaston and Alain that young Georges hadn't hit anything yet, especially since their attention was usually focused on their own shooting. "Don't worry, Georges, your day will come," Gaston would say encouragingly.

But Georges knew he couldn't get away with it forever, and with each hunting trip, his worry grew. Now, as they trooped through the forest, Georges remembered his father's words at breakfast – "I have a feeling you're going to get lucky today, Georges; maybe you'll make your first kill" – and they filled him with dread.

"I spotted a grove of oak and beechnut trees about half a mile from here the other day, when I was on my way home," Gaston was saying. "Should be some good mast there." 'Mast' was a hunting term that meant 'food that deer like to eat,' such as acorns and beechnuts, Georges knew. "That's where we'll make our stand," Gaston went on. "We'll see what turns up."

As they settled in a secluded spot, well downwind of the grove of trees, George hoped the deer had all stuffed themselves earlier and wouldn't be hungry enough to return while they were there.

At first, it looked like he would get his wish. Time went by with no deer in sight. They ate their lunch, eating quietly and speaking in low whispers, then settled in to wait some more.

Georges' spirits began to rise. It was getting late; surely they would be going home soon. It happened that way sometimes, even with all Gaston's skill; there were days when the game just didn't show, and they went home empty-handed. Maybe that would happen today.

But it was not to be. Suddenly Georges felt his father silently grip his shoulder. A huge buck had stepped into the grove and was feeding on the fallen acorns. It was a clear shot, impossible to miss. Alain started to raise his rifle, but Gaston touched his arm and shook his head, then nodded at Georges. It was an easy shot, the perfect opportunity for his younger son to finally bag a trophy of his own.

Georges swallowed. His father and brother were both watching him. What could he do? His brain swirled with conflicting thoughts. He couldn't bear the thought of hurting the deer, let alone killing it. He just couldn't do it. But on the other hand, he also couldn't bear the thought of disappointing his father…or appearing too weak to do what a "real man" did. What was he going to do?

With his father's eyes on him, there was no way out. Slowly, filled with dread, Georges raised his rifle and took his time aiming, looking through the sights and lining up the shot as his father had taught him to do, trying to stall for time.

Gaston smiled approvingly, and his gaze flickered to the deer, anticipating Georges' triumph.

Georges saw his chance. In the instant he squeezed the trigger, he jerked the rifle up slightly, so the bullet went over the deer's back, missing it by inches. At the crack of the gun, the deer immediately bolted, its white tail disappearing into the forest. Then it was gone.

Gaston turned to Georges, who looked down at the ground in shame. His father must be so angry, or at least sorely disappointed in him for missing such an easy shot. He waited for the disapproving lecture that must be coming.

Then he felt his father's hand on his shoulder. "That's all right, son," Gaston said kindly. "Even the best hunters miss once in a while. Even me…but don't tell anyone!" he added with a wink.

George managed a smile. "I'm really sorry, Papa."

"Don't be," Gaston said reassuringly. "It's probably my fault – I taught you how to shoot, but I haven't practiced with you enough. I'll make sure to spend some time with you this week. We'll work on it, and I'll help you get better. All right?"

"Sure," Georges said quietly. "That would be great."

Gaston patted his shoulder. "Don't worry, son. I'm sure you'll get one next time."

Georges nodded. His father's kindness only made him feel worse. He was being so nice about it, wanting to reassure Georges, ready to spend his valuable time working with him to help him improve his shooting…how would he feel if he knew Georges had missed on _purpose?_ Georges felt like a complete fraud.

He noticed that Alain seemed to be looking at him oddly, with a curious look, or so it seemed to Georges. _Did he see anything? Does he know? _Georges wondered anxiously. Or was it just Georges' guilty conscience making him think that?

If Alain did know the truth, he didn't say anything. Georges looked away, not meeting his brother's eyes.

"Well, it's getting late – we might as well be getting home," Gaston said. "Come on, boys."

"Sure, Pa," Alain said. Georges nodded, relieved that the hunting was over, and they headed for home.

O o o o o o o oo o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

After Gaston and the boys left the house that morning, Belle knocked on Mimi's door, then entered. "I brought you your breakfast, since you didn't finish it," she said, putting the plate on the nightstand.

"Thanks," Mimi said grudgingly. She _was _getting hungry.

Belle sat on the bed and stroked her hair. "Honey, I know you're disappointed. But this is what happens when you break the rules. Next time, I know you'll think first and act better, and then we won't ever have to go through this again," she said with a smile.

Mimi turned away. She didn't want to hear it. "Just leave me alone!"

Belle shook her head and left the room. _Well, what did you think she'd say? _she told herself._ "Thanks, Mama, you're absolutely right! I behaved badly and I deserved to get punished!" _Of course Mimi was upset to lose her outing, and a lecture was the last thing she wanted. It didn't make her bad temper any easier to live with, though.

Belle thought for a moment, wondering if there was anything she could do to cheer Mimi up. She decided to bake some gingerbread. Mimi liked that.

Lili entered the kitchen as Belle was setting out the ingredients. "I'm going to bake some gingerbread – want to help me?" Belle asked. Lili loved to help mix ingredients and lick the spoon after the batter was poured.

Lili shook her head. She held up a bedraggled bunch of wildflowers in her tiny fist. "I just picked these outside. I'm going to give them to Mimi to make her feel better!"

Belle smiled. "What a nice idea! That was very thoughtful of you."

Lili nodded and ran upstairs.

Lying on her bed, Mimi stared up at the ceiling, imagining how much fun her brothers must be having right now. She should _be_ there with them, exploring the forest, having an adventure, spending time with her father, learning how to hunt…She was sure she'd be the best one at it, once Papa told her what to do. He'd be so proud of her… But instead, she was stuck here doing nothing. It was so _unfair!_

Lili came bursting into the room, all sunshine and smiles. "Hi, Mimi!"

"Go away!" Mimi snapped, irritated at the interruption. She just wanted to lie here and sulk in her bad mood. The last thing she needed was her little sister's annoying cheerfulness.

"Why?" asked Lili, wounded. "It's my room too."

"Because I said so!" yelled Mimi. "Leave me alone and stop being such a pest! Go bother someone else!"

Lili burst into tears. "Why are you so mean? I just came to give you some f-flowers to make you feel b-better!" she sobbed, holding up the bouquet.

"Oh." Mimi felt a little bad, hearing that. Lili was just trying to be nice.

Lili was still crying, her breath coming in choking sobs, tears running down her cheeks. Mimi sighed. "Look…I'm sorry, okay?" she said awkwardly. "I'm just mad 'cause I didn't get to go hunting with Papa." She looked at the bouquet. "Uh…those are nice flowers! Thanks."

Lili smiled through her tears. "You're welcome."

Mimi tried to think of something nice she could do back. "Do you want me to play with you?"

"Yes!" Lili said, brightening immediately.

"Okay. What do you want to play?"

"Princesses!" Lili said immediately.

Mimi rolled her eyes, but only said, "How do we do that?"

"We're both princesses, and we have long beautiful names, and we're wearing fancy dresses and jewels, and you come to my castle to visit me, and we have tea together and brush each other's hair!" Lili said.

_Ugh, _thought Mimi. "I have a better idea," she said. "How about you're the princess, but you get captured by a dragon! And he locks you up in a dark tower, and he's going to eat you up! But then a brave knight comes along and kills the dragon and rescues you. You can be the princess, and I'll be the dragon and the knight."

Lili was delighted. "I like that!"

"Great!" said Mimi. Her eye fell on the bunch of flowers. She picked them up and twisted them together into a makeshift garland, and placed it on Lili's head. "There. That's your crown."

Lili immediately ran to look in the mirror. "Pretty!" she said happily.

Mimi smiled. "Okay. You start out doing your princess stuff."

Lili got up and started to dance around the room, humming. "Oh, 'tis such a lovely day here in my castle," she said in what she thought was a posh voice. "I wish someone would come visit me."

"ROAR!" Mimi jumped in front of her, growing, her fingers curled into claws. "I'll come visit you! I'm a mean scary dragon, and I eat princesses!"

Lili let out a mock scream. "Eeek! Don't eat me!"

"Well, you're lucky," Mimi growled. "I'm not hungry right now. I just ate three other princesses for lunch. I'm gonna take you back to my castle and lock you in the tower and eat you later for dinner!"

"No! No!" said Lili melodramatically. Then she stopped. "Oh, wait…I'm a princess, I should faint, right?" She put the back of her hand to her forehead, closed her eyes, and sank gracefully to the floor.

Mimi was impressed. "That was really good!" she said. "You're great at fainting. But I can't pick you up if you're on the floor."

"Oh, okay!" Lili said, jumping up. She raised her arms to make it easier. Mimi grabbed her around the waist, lifted her up, and put her on the bed. "There!" She mimed slamming a dungeon door and locking it. "Now you can't escape!"

"Oh, no! Help me! Help me!" cried Lili. "Won't someone save me?"

Mimi galloped around the room. "I'm a noble knight in search of a quest…Hark! Do I hear someone in trouble?"

"It's me!" Lili called. "Up in the tower! I'm a princess! The dragon is going to eat me!"

Mimi made a sweeping bow. "Fear not, fair maiden. I shall rescue you."

She pulled out an imaginary sword. "Come out, dragon!"

Then she jumped a few feet forward and turned to face the other way. "Grrrr! Who disturbs my slumber?"

She jumped back. "I do! I'm a brave knight come to rescue the princess!"

She mimed a vicious battle, sometimes being the dragon, blowing fire and slashing with her claws, sometimes being the knight, jabbing with his sword. Lili squealed with excitement. Finally Mimi swung her sword and announced that she had cut off the dragon's head. She unlocked the dungeon door.

"You are free, your highness," she said, bowing again.

"My hero!" sighed Lili. She pulled a ribbon out of her hair and handed it to Mimi. "Please take this favor as a token of my gratitude."

"Thanks," said Mimi. She grinned. "Does this mean I have to marry you?"

"Of course!" said Lili. The two girls collapsed onto the bed in giggles.

There was a knock at the door. "Come in," Mimi called.

Belle entered, carrying a tray. "I made gingerbread. Do you want some?"

"Yay! Gingerbread!" said Mimi enthusiastically. She grabbed a piece and took a big bite. "Thanks, Mama!"

Belle smiled. "It sounds like you girls were having a lot of fun in here."

Lili nodded. "I was the princess, and Mimi was the dragon and the knight!"

"That's great," Belle said. "I bet Mimi makes a _wonderful _knight!"

"Yeah, she fights really good!" Lili said. Mimi beamed.

Belle put down the tray. She kissed the top of Mimi's head and then Lili's. "I'm so lucky to have such clever girls with such wonderful imaginations!" She headed for the door. "I'll be downstairs. Call me if you need me."

"Okay!" Mimi said cheerfully. She turned to her sister. "What should we do now, Lili?"

Belle closed the door and went downstairs, smiling.


	8. Conversations

Belle came forward as the front door opened and Gaston and the boys entered. "How did it go?" she asked, smiling. "Did you bag anything?"

Then she frowned in concern, seeing how upset Georges looked. She wondered what had happened.

Gaston shook his head. "No, nothing today," he said dismissively.

"Oh, that's too bad," Belle said sympathetically.

Gaston shrugged. "It happens. The important thing is that I spent a day out hunting with my boys!" he added, trying to inject a cheerful note into the conversation.

"That's right," Belle said with a smile, glad he wasn't in a bad mood over the lack of game.

Mimi boasted, "I bet if I was there, _I_ would have gotten something!"

Gaston laughed, enjoying her confidence. "Not so fast, wildcat," he said fondly, ruffling her hair. "You need some lessons first. There's a lot to learn about hunting before you actually try to _shoot _anything!"

"Like what?" Mimi asked, interested.

Over dinner, Gaston talked expansively about all the elements that went into hunting, his favorite subject. Mimi kept interrupting him with questions, and Alain added his own comments on occasion.

But Belle couldn't focus on the conversation. She was worried about Georges, who was unusually silent. "Are you all right, honey?" she asked him softly.

He nodded, managing a smile. "I'm fine, Mama."

She could see he didn't want to talk about it, so reluctantly didn't press him. It didn't stop her from being concerned, though. What could have happened out there? It wasn't the first time they'd come home empty-handed from hunting, but it had never bothered him before. There couldn't have been an accident or anything serious, or Gaston would have mentioned it. What was upsetting him?

That night, after the children had been put to bed, Belle asked Gaston, "Did something happen today? Georges looked so unhappy."

Gaston shrugged as he got ready for bed. "Yes. I didn't want to make a big deal of it. We saw a deer today – a huge buck. It was pretty close, and it was a clear shot, very easy. Almost impossible to miss, really. So I let Georges take the shot. He's been shooting for a few months now and hasn't bagged anything yet, so I thought this was a good chance for him to finally bring home a trophy."

"Oh," Belle said. "But he didn't?"

Gaston shook his head. "Nope, he missed. I guess he just choked under the pressure."

"Oh, that's a shame," Belle said. She looked at Gaston and asked tentatively, "You...didn't scold him for missing, did you?" She knew how competitive her husband was, how focused he was on winning and being the best.

"Of _course_ not!" Gaston said, offended. "I could see how disappointed he was about it. He looked like he was really beating himself up over it, poor kid. Nothing more frustrating than missing a shot." Gaston looked sympathetic. Then he added proudly, "He's got the heart of a hunter, though, that's for sure! You should have seen him aiming that gun! He spent so much time on it, trying _so_ hard to line up the sights perfectly and get the angle exactly right so he'd make the shot. Getting that trophy was the most important thing in the world to him."

"Poor Georges," Belle sighed, her heart going out to her son. No wonder he was upset! "He take things so much to heart."

"But don't worry," Gaston added confidently. "He'll be a fine hunter in the end, wait and see. He's got the will and the desire, and he's terrific at tracking...he just doesn't have the shooting skill yet. But that'll come with time. I told him not to feel bad, that even the best hunters miss sometimes...even _me!_ I promised to work with him this week on his shooting, help him practice and get better, and I told him I'm sure he'll bag something another time."

Belle smiled, relieved. "You're a good father," she said affectionately. "Is that what your father would have done?"

Gaston gave a snort of laughter. _"My_ father? Oh, no," he said, shaking his head. "If _I'd_ ever missed an easy shot like that, my father would have been _furious!_ He would have marched me home and made me practice for hours until I could hit every bullseye with my eyes closed."

Dismayed, Belle put her hand on his shoulder. "That must have put so much pressure on you," she said compassionately.

Gaston shrugged nonchalantly. "He just wanted me to be perfect. But luckily, I _am,_ so it all worked out!" he added with a wink.

But Belle didn't laugh and tease as she usually did. She looked into his eyes seriously. "You know...I love you even when you're _not_ perfect."

"What do you mean? I'm _always _perfect!" Gaston replied, mock-offended.

"You know what I mean," she said, and kissed him on the cheek. "I'd love you even if you _weren't _the best at everything. I love you for being _you._"

Gaston smiled, touched despite himself. "I know." He took her in his arms and kissed her.

O o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o oo o o

In the boys' bedroom, Georges was waiting for Alain to blow out the candle, which was on Alain's nightstand, so he could sink into the welcoming darkness and try to forget his problems in sleep...although knowing himself, he'd probably lie awake in the dark worrying instead, he realized ruefully.

But Alain didn't blow out the candle. Instead, he sat on the side of his bed and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, looking at Georges. "Okay. We're alone now. So...talk to me." That was Alain, Georges thought – always direct and straight to the point.

_Not like me. _"I don't know what you mean," Georges said evasively.

"I saw you today. You missed that deer on purpose." There was no accusation in Alain's voice – merely a statement of fact. "How come?"

Georges hesitated. "You have to promise not to tell anyone."

Alain nodded. "Okay. I promise."

Georges looked into his brother's clear brown eyes and knew he could trust him. Alain was as honest as the day was long, and had an unshakable sense of honor. If he promised not to tell, he wouldn't. "All right," Georges said. He took a deep breath. "The thing is...I don't like hunting."

"Why not?" Alain asked, interested.

Georges shrugged. "I don't want to kill anything. I see a rabbit, or a deer, and they look so beautiful to me, and so innocent, and...I just don't want to kill them, that's all," he said, a bit defensively. He eyed his brother cautiously, waiting to see if he would laugh.

But Alain simply nodded, absorbing this information. "Okay. That makes sense."

"It does?" Georges said, startled. He knew Alain liked hunting, even if he wasn't as passionate about it as their father was. He hadn't expected him to understand.

"Sure," Alain said. He reflected a moment. "It's like...well, when our dog Malo died last year. I was very sad about it. I'd be sad if any of the other dogs died too, or the horses. And I'd never want to _kill_ a dog or a horse...well, unless it was very old and sick and suffering," he corrected himself, always wanting to be accurate. "Then I'd want to put it out of its misery. But I could never kill a _healthy _dog or horse, not even if someone paid me. I'd feel terrible doing that. So I guess that's how you feel about _all_ the animals, even deer and rabbits and things."

"Yes!" Georges said. "That's exactly how it is." He felt a huge sense of relief to know his brother understood and didn't think he was crazy.

Alain nodded, looking thoughtful. "With me...well, the way I see it, we eat animals all the time, whether it's bacon at breakfast or venison at dinner. If you go hunting, you kill it yourself; if you buy it from the butcher, someone else does it. But it's the same either way. That's just the way it is. So it doesn't bother me. But that's just me. I can completely understand why you feel like you do."

"Thanks," Georges said gratefully.

"But if that's how you feel, you should tell Pa," Alain went on, ever practical. "No point going hunting if you don't like it."

Georges shook his head. "I _can't._ You know how he is. He's always saying how proud he is to have us out there with him, how we're carrying on the family tradition, and how hunting makes you a 'real man.' He wants us to be great hunters like he is. He'd be really upset if I told him the truth - maybe even mad."

"Well, that's true," Alain admitted. "But you can't just go on pretending forever. Better to just tell him and get it over with."

Georges imagined the look in his father's eyes if he told him how he truly felt about hunting. Alain was wrong, he thought – it wouldn't be a matter of "getting it over with." If he told his father, it would change everything. His father would look at him differently...maybe even _feel_ differently about him. He just wouldn't understand. And he'd be so disappointed in Georges. Georges couldn't let that happen.

He didn't like hunting, but he did like the closeness he had with his father, the time they spent together, the warm feeling inside when his father spoke proudly about his "two fine boys." He couldn't risk losing that.

"I can't tell him," he said simply.

Alain shrugged. "Well, I still think you should, but it's your decision."

"You won't say anything, will you?" Georges asked anxiously.

Alain looked offended. "Of course not. I promised, didn't I?"

"Thanks," Georges said, relieved.

Alain grinned. "Any time." He picked up the candle. "Well, I'm ready to go to bed. You?" Georges nodded. Alain blew out the candle.

"Good night, Georges."

"Good night."

In the darkness, Georges smiled, feeling a little better. He rolled over and went to sleep.

O o o o oo o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

"And so we say, Amen," Reverend Grognon said from the pulpit the following day, concluding the Sunday service.

"Amen," echoed the parishioners. They rose to their feet and filed out of the pews, but didn't leave immediately. Church was as much a social event as a religious one, and soon the room was dotted with small clusters of villagers, chatting and catching up on the week's news.

Bunny looked furtively across the room where Gaston was standing with his family, including Alain, talking with various people. As she watched, Georges walked away to talk with his friend Henri, while Lili ran off to play among the pews with Denis. But Gaston and Alain stayed where they were, Bunny was pleased to see.

She tried to think of a good strategy. Armand had made it very clear that he did NOT want her to formally introduce Suzette to Alain yet...but there might be a way to get around that, she thought, her eye falling on Belle. What could be more natural than one housewife going to chat and gossip with another? And then, of course, their children would naturally start talking...

The butcher came over to ask Armand when his gun would be ready. Bunny saw her chance. "I'm just going over to talk to some of the other wives, dear!" she told him innocently. Focused on his own conversation, Armand just gestured vaguely without looking at her, indicating, "Fine, fine, go."

"Come, Suzette," Bunny told her daughter. Feeling triumphant, she headed toward the Avenants, weaving her way through the crowd, calling cheerily, "Why, hello there, Belle!" Belle looked surprised, but waved back politely.

But to Bunny's chagrin, just as she reached Belle, Gaston and Alain headed off in another direction! She swivelled her head to see where they were going. To add insult to injury, they were heading right for her _own_ husband, no doubt to discuss Alain's first day on the job tomorrow! Bunny mentally cursed herself. She should have stayed where she was! Now she was stuck. She had just this very moment approached Belle, greeting her in a friendly way – she'd look completely ridiculous if she suddenly turned away to chase after Gaston and Alain!

"Hello, Bunny," Belle said, always cordial. "Lovely sermon, wasn't it?"

"Yes, it was," Bunny replied, thinking fast. Suddenly an idea struck her. _Of course! _she thought, brightening. _This is perfect! Belle is Alain's mother – surely SHE'S eager for a good match for him too. If I can get HER on my side..._She smiled brightly. "Belle, I just wanted to tell you how happy I am that Alain is going to be Armand's apprentice. He's been needing a smart young man to work for him, and he thinks VERY highly of Alain. I just know Alain is going to learn so much at this job."

Belle smiled back. "He's _very _excited about it, I can tell you! He can't wait to get started."

"Oh, good! I'm sure he'll make a wonderful gunsmith," Bunny said, then stopped abruptly as if realizing something. "Oh, _where_ are my manners?" she said with a self-deprecating giggle. She put her hands on Suzette's shoulders and pushed her forward. "Belle, you remember my daughter, don't you?"

"Of course!" Belle said warmly, smiling at the girl. "How have you been, Suzette? We've missed you at school the past few years." She remembered Suzette very well, even though her parents had taken her out of school at age 10. Suzette certainly had not been among the brightest or most studious of pupils: she was silly, flighty, easily distracted, and spent more time whispering and giggling with her friends than focusing on her schoolwork. But she was a friendly, vivacious girl with a bubbly personality, well-liked by the other children, and as far as Belle could tell, without a mean bone in her body.

"Oh, I'm fine, Mme. Avenant!" Suzette replied enthusiastically. "I've been busy helping my mother at home mostly."

"That's nice. And do you still do any reading and learning, even though you're at home?" Belle asked hopefully.

"Oh, _yes!"_ Suzette said, nodding eagerly, her blonde curls bouncing. "Just last week I read a recipe for the most _delicious _apple pie! And I learned how to make it myself – it's truly divine." Her eyes suddenly lit up with an idea. "Oh! I know! I'll bake one for you sometime!"

"Thank you! I'd love to try it," Belle said, smiling. It was impossible to dislike Suzette – she was like a bouncy, eager-to-please puppy.

"Suzette's a wonderful cook," Bunny said proudly. "She'll make a fine wife someday, believe me!"

Belle sighed. "It always comes down to that, doesn't it?" she said wearily.

"Nothing more important!" Bunny agreed, glad to hear that Belle finally understood what really mattered in life. "And she's turned out _so_ pretty, don't you agree?" She stroked Suzette's gleaming golden locks fondly. "I just can't believe how fast she's grown up – 14 already!" She paused. "Why, I think your Alain is around the same age, right?"

Belle nodded. "Yes, he's 14 too."

"Well...with him working for Armand and all, maybe he and Suzette will take a liking to each other," Bunny hinted with a wink.

"Oh, yes, I'm sure they will," Belle said agreeably. "Suzette is such a friendly girl. Alain's bound to get along with her."

Bunny stared at her blankly. Was Belle really _that _dense? _And SHE'S supposed to be the SMART one! _Bunny thought, mentally rolling her eyes. "Yes, that's true. But I meant as they get older, you know...a boy, a girl...you never can tell what will happen," she said meaningfully.

Belle finally got the message. "Oh, my goodness, there's plenty of time for _that!_" she said with a laugh. "They're only 14!"

Bunny forced herself to laugh along with Belle. "Oh, I _know!_ They're hardly more than children! But a mother can't help thinking of her child's future, you know." She decided she'd better drop the subject for now, so as not to seem pushy. _Belle seems to like Suzette well enough, that's promising, and I mentioned the idea...let it float around her head for awhile, _she decided.

Time to change the subject. "And this must be _your_ older daughter – my, how tall she's gotten!" Bunny said admiringly, gesturing at Mimi. "She takes after her father, I see!"

Mimi beamed, thrilled to be compared to her Papa.

Belle smiled. "Yes, Mimi is a chip off the old block, that's for certain," she said affectionately.

Bunny cast about for something else to say to win Belle over. "Belle, I have to tell you, that is a _lovely _dress you're wearing. It's so becoming on you!"

"Thank you, Bunny," Belle said, clearly surprised that Bunny would compliment her. "Your dress is very pretty too."

"Thanks," Bunny said, smiling chummily as though Belle were her best friend.

Something caught Belle's eye. "Oh, look! There's the minister. I wanted to tell him how much I liked his sermon."

Before Belle could excuse herself, Bunny said, "Oh, me too! I'll come with you." She eagerly followed Belle and Mimi up the aisle.

Mathilde Grognon was talking with her friends Bambi and Bubbles when her husband Eugéne came over to join her. "Well, that seemed to go well," he said, clearly relieved that his first day on the pulpit had been well-received.

"Yes," Mathilde agreed proudly. She was greatly enjoying her position as minister's wife – it was the most respected position a woman could have in a town. Already a number of women had come up to her to welcome her to the village and even ask her advice.

But her smile faded slightly as she saw Belle and her daughter approaching. What did _she _want?

"Reverend, I just wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed your sermon," Belle said to Eugéne. "It was very inspiring."

"Thank you!" Eugéne said, pleased.

Belle turned to Mathilde. "And Mme. Grognon...well...I think we got off on the wrong foot last week," she said with a tentative smile. "So...I'd really like to put it all behind us and let bygones be bygones, if you're willing. Welcome to the village." She held out her hand.

Mathilde eyed her a bit suspiciously, wondering what she was up to. But Eugéne was delighted. "Now _that's_ the kind of spirit I like to see in my church – the spirit of peace and goodwill!" he said happily. "Mending fences, smoothing over hurt feelings...what could be more appropriate for a Sunday?" He looked meaningfully at his wife. "And of course, I _know _that as a fine, moral and upstanding woman, Mathilde, you will accept Mme. Avenant's overture in the same gracious spirit in which it was offered," he added, a slight warning edge to his tone.

Mathilde recovered her composure. It was true – she couldn't very well rebuff Belle right here in church, nor could she publicly contradict her own husband! She was far too well-bred for that. Graciously she took Belle's hand for a moment. "Certainly, Mme. Avenant," she said loftily. "After all, to err is human, to forgive divine. Of _course_ I accept your apology."

Eugéne smiled, pleased at this show of harmony, and went off to talk with some other parishioners.

Belle looked a bit surprised by the word "apology," but Mathilde didn't notice – she was reflecting on Belle's gesture. Perhaps the younger woman _was _sincerely remorseful, and wished to repent of her bad behavior, she thought. Perhaps she was not actually _malicious,_ but merely woefully misguided...in which case she was certainly in dire need of Mathilde's sensible influence and advice, she decided. As a moral and God-fearing woman, it was Mathilde's duty to help her.

"I am _very _glad to see that you have come to your senses, Mme. Avenant, and that you understand that I have only been trying to help you, before it's too late," she went on approvingly. "I sincerely hope that you will now take my good advice to heart and take a firmer hand with your daughter from now on. It's _very_ important for you to teach her a woman's proper role in life and train her to behave in a much more seemly and ladylike fashion. Mark my words, no good can come from letting a girl run wild and act like a boy!" she pronounced darkly.

Mimi scowled, and Belle looked uncomfortable. "Well..." she said slowly, choosing her words carefully. "I certainly do appreciate you showing such concern for my family, Mme. Grognon!" she said diplomatically. "Of course, raising a child is a very personal matter, I'm sure you understand, and I truly believe decisions are best left up to the parents..." Seeing that Mme. Grognon was about to disagree, she added hastily, "But I thank you most sincerely for your good intentions."

Bambi's daughter Fantine pulled on her mother's sleeve, then whispered in her ear. Bambi listened, then smiled cattily. "Oh, that's _so _good to hear, Belle," she said, her voice syrupy-sweet. "So, does that mean you're _not _going to let Mimi go hunting next weekend after all?"

_"What?"_ Mme. Grognon stared at Belle in pure horror. She was so scandalized, she was momentarily speechless.

To everyone's surprise, the voice that spoke next belonged not to Mme. Grognon, but to her daughter Paige. The girl was always so meek and quiet that she was generally overlooked, like part of the furniture. It was something of a shock to hear her speak up. "Your parents really let you go _hunting?"_ she asked Mimi, her voice full of awe.

Mimi nodded. "I'm going to be the best hunter this town ever saw! Just wait and see!" she bragged.

"But...aren't you _afraid_ to go into the forest?" Paige asked, looking at her in wonder. "There are wolves there—"

"Nope! I'm not afraid of _anything!" _Mimi said proudly. Paige's eyes widened in astonishment

Mathilde finally found her voice. "Well! I've _never_ heard of such a thing in all my born days!" she said in outrage. "A little girl _hunting?_ What on _earth_ can you be thinking, Mme. Avenant?_"_

Bambi and Bubbles tittered. "We told you. Belle has always been, well..._different_," Bubbles smirked. "She thinks _she _knows better than everyone else."

Before Belle could protest, Bunny suddenly interrupted. "Well, she does. It's because she's so smart and reads so many books, isn't it, Belle?" she said. "Why, I'm sure you know all _kinds _of things that none of the rest of us know about! I think it's just _wonderful _that you have all these new ideas and do things in such an original way. We're so lucky to have someone so smart and who knows so much teaching our kids! I know _I _could never do it – I'm not nearly as clever as you, Belle!"

Bambi and Bubbles gaped at their sister in disbelief as though she had just grown a second head. Bunny just smiled serenely at them.

"Thank you, Bunny," Belle said, surprised and grateful at the unexpected defense. "That's very nice of you to say. But I think everyone is smart in their own way, really. I've just read more books than most people, that's all."

At that moment, Gaston showed up, causing an involuntary sigh of admiration from all three triplets, which he ignored. "Belle, are you ready to go home yet? I'm starving!"

"Oh, of course," Belle said.

"Good. I'll go get Alain; you round up Georges and Lili. Excuse us, ladies," he added to the group, then turned and walked away.

"Well, I have to be going now," Belle said to the women, adding to Bunny, "It was very nice talking to you, Bunny."

Bunny was delighted. Her plan was working well after all. "Oh, the pleasure was all _mine,_ Belle! I _do_ hope we'll get to talk again soon!" Belle gave her a friendly wave, then went off with Mimi to find the rest of her family.

Bambi grabbed Bunny's arm. "What was _that _all about?" she demanded. "Since when do you like Belle?"

"Oh, Belle's not so bad. She has a lot of good qualities," Bunny said calmly, gathering her things. _Like a son who'll be a perfect husband for my daughter._

Her sisters looked like they were about to argue, but the arrival of their own husbands interrupted them. Looking annoyed, they headed off.

Suzette whispered to her mother, "Oh, Mama! Alain is _so_ good-looking!" She clasped her hands together dreamily. "I was watching him all during the service. Why, he's the handsomest boy I've ever seen in my life!"

"Just like his father," Bunny said with a smile.

Suzette sighed. "But I didn't even get to say hello to him!" she added in disappointment. "Am I really going to get to marry him someday?"

"You will if I have anything to do with it," Bunny promised. "Just be patient. Now hush – here comes your father." She put her hand on Suzette's shoulder and hurried to meet her husband.


	9. Lessons

Suzette watched eagerly through her bedroom window as Alain came up the road toward their house. Her heart began to race. He was _so _unbelievably handsome! Like all the girls in the village, she had always wondered and dreamed about who she would marry one day...and secretly worried that her father might arrange a match for her with someone she didn't like, someone old or ugly or mean. So to find out that her parents had their eye on the dreamiest, most gorgeous boy in Molyneaux to be her husband was like being promised a wonderful present.

Dreamily, she imagined their wedding...there would be a fancy multi-tiered cake, and she would be wearing a beautiful beaded white gown with a long train...

But suddenly a terrible thought struck her, and a chill went down her spine. _What if he doesn't like me?_ Anxiously, Suzette tried to push away her fear. She told herself, _Don't be silly. Of course he will like me_..._He HAS to like me! _Nervously she patted her hair and smoothed down her skirt.

The bedroom door opened, and her mother entered. "Mama!" Suzette said excitedly. "Alain is coming! How do I look?"

Bunny sat down on the bed. "There's a change of plans. I want you to stay up here when Alain arrives."

_"What?"_ Suzette cried, stunned. Her face fell in disappointment. "But Mama, I've been getting ready all morning! This is my big chance! What if another girl gets to him first?" The thought was devastating. "I have to meet him _now, _while I can!"

Bunny shook her head. "Not yet. Trust me, Suzette. I've been thinking a lot about our strategy. Getting a good husband is the single most important thing in a girl's life. You know that. So the first impression you make on Alain _has _to have a big impact. We can't afford to mess it up." She stood up, pacing as she continued to think out loud. "When I was talking to Belle, it sounded to me like Alain isn't at the age of really being interested in girls yet. Apparently, all he talks about are machines. And today is the first day of his new job working with your father. He's probably all excited about that, wondering what it will be like. That's going to be the only thing on his mind right now..which means that if you meet him today, he'll barely even notice you. That is _not_ what we want." She set her jaw in determination. "When you get introduced to Alain, it has to be a big deal to him. It needs to be _special, _and exciting."

Suzette was intrigued despite herself. Although she was dying to meet Alain right away, she had to admit that her mother made sense. "Well...okay," she conceded. "But how can we make it special?"

"For one thing, we can't let him see you too much, and you can't be too available," Bunny said practically. "Of course you both live here in the village, but I _don't_ want you going up to him or talking to him. Not yet." She looked at her daughter seriously, her eyes reflecting pain and regret borne of experience. "If there's one thing I've learned in my life, Suzette, it's this: Men like a challenge. If a girl follows a man around all the time, flattering him and doing anything he wants, he'll see her as easy and take her for granted. Oh, he might have his fun with her, but he won't value her...and he won't _marry _her." Her voice trailed off bitterly as memories of her youth overtook her. What a fool she'd been! If only she'd acted aloof and hard to get, like Belle, things might have been so different...

"Mama?" Suzette asked in concern. "Are you all right?"

Bunny forced her thoughts back to the present. She smiled at her daughter. "I'm fine. Just figuring out the best plan for you." She patted Suzette's hand reassuringly. "So instead, we're going to wait a while. We'll let Alain get settled into his job so the novelty wears off, and let him grow up a little and start getting interested in girls. I'm going to go on being friendly to Belle, so I'll keep tabs on him, don't worry! Then, when the time is right, I'll get your father to start talking you up: how beautiful you are, what a wonderful cook you are, how all the boys are after you, but only the _best_ will be worthy of your hand." Bunny smiled slyly as the plan unfolded in her mind. It was the perfect scheme, she was sure of it. "He'll start getting curious about you, and eager to see for himself. Then,when he's _dying_ to meet you...we'll invite him to dinner. We'll make sure that you're the utter vision of loveliness that night. You'll come down the stairs, dressed to the hilt, and you'll absolutely _dazzle _him with your beauty. That boy won't know what hit him!" she finished triumphantly.

Suzette beamed in delight. "Oh, do you really think so?"

Bunny smiled and nodded. "Trust me. Just be patient, and he'll be yours forever."

O o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o oo o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o oo o o o o o o o o o o

Outside the house, Alain's heart was racing too as he knocked on the door. This was _it_ – he was finally going to have the vocation he'd always dreamed of, working with guns and machines and learning more about them than he'd ever known before. Although Alain was usually the calmest of people, today he was practically bouncing with excitement. He felt like a whole new life was beginning for him.

But at the same time, he couldn't help feeling a little apprehensive, too. More than anything, he wanted to do a good job and not disappoint his new employer.

Monsieur Armurier opened the door. "Ah, you're here bright and early!" he said approvingly.

"Oh, I hope I'm not _too _early," Alain said apologetically. "I just couldn't wait."

The gunsmith laughed. "Well, that's good to hear! I like to see enthusiasm in a lad. And your timing is perfect; I just finished breakfast. Do you want something to eat?"

"No, thank you. I ate at home."

"All right, then. Let's get started." They walked next door to the shop. The gunsmith unlocked the door and went in, followed by his apprentice.

Alain had a thought. "Monsieur Armurier, I was wondering...last time I was here, I saw a spinning wheel in the shop. What was it for?"

"Oh, that. Well, since I'm a gunsmith, people know I have tools and I'm able to fix things," Monsieur Armurier explained, taking a rifle down from a shelf. "So sometimes if something breaks, they'll bring it to me to fix, even if it's not a gun."

"Really?" Alain's eyes lit up.

Monsieur Armurier was puzzled by his delighted reaction. "Yes, why?"

Alain smiled, embarrassed. "It's just...I really like fixing things. All kinds of machines. I want to learn all about guns, but if I can sometimes fix other things too...well, that's even _better!"_ Alain wanted to seem calm and professional, but he could barely contain his enthusiasm.

"Glad to hear it. Now, have a seat on the workbench." Monsieur Armurier put the rifle on the table. "I know you've done some tinkering with your grandpa, so let's see how much you know. I'm going to disassemble this rifle completely. I'll point to each piece, and you tell me what it is and what it does, if you know. Anything you don't know, I'll tell you. Then you try to put it all back together again, and I'll help you."

"Great!" Alain couldn't wait to get started. This would be so much fun, like a game or a puzzle.

Monsieur Armurier smiled to himself as he took the rifle apart, curious to see how much this boy _really _knew. As he pointed to each piece, his surprise and admiration grew. Alain correctly identified every part, then reassembled the rifle in mere minutes. Monsieur Armurier mentally congratulated himself on his excellent judge of character. This boy would certainly make a fine apprentice...and maybe, a fine son-in-law, too.

O o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o oo o o o o oo o o o o o o

"Where's Alain?" one of the older boys asked as Belle called the class to order. "Is he sick?"

Belle smiled with a mixture of pride and sadness. "Alain was offered an apprenticeship at the gunsmith's, so he left school to start working there. He won't be coming back to class." She looked around the class for a reaction, and saw that the announcement wasn't nearly as earthshaking to the students as it was to her. Although she had expanded the school age up to 14 during her tenure, it was very common for students to leave before their final term was over. The class accepted the news with barely a shrug.

To Belle, though, it felt strange teaching the class without her son there. She wondered what he was doing right now at his new job, and hoped that he liked it.

After school, the older students either headed home or went to play, while the younger ones were picked up by their mothers. Two little girls – Jeanne, Monique's youngest daughter, and Gabrielle, Josette's youngest – asked if they could go pick wildflowers in the meadow near the school.

Lili brightened. "Ooh! I want to pick flowers too!"

"Well...I wanted to go to the bookstore..." Belle said, thinking out loud.

"I'll keep an eye on her," Monique offered.

"All right," Belle said, smiling. "Lili, you can play for a bit while I'm at the bookstore. But then it will be time to come home for lunch."

"Okay!" Lili said happily.

Belle turned to Georges and Mimi. "Ready to go to the bookstore?"

"You bet!" Georges said immediately. He couldn't wait to see what new books might be in stock.

Mimi frowned. "Do I have to go? I hate the bookstore! It's so boring, and you always start talking to Monsieur Lisseur, and we'll be there _forever!_ Can't I just go home?"

Belle sighed. How could a daughter of hers dislike reading so much? Mimi didn't mind listening to Belle read stories in the evening, but getting her to read on her own was like pulling teeth. Belle just couldn't understand it. To her the bookstore was a marvellous place, full of fantasy and adventure and romance, colorful characters and exotic worlds...she couldn't even _imagine _finding it "boring."

But she couldn't force the issue. "All right, Mimi," she relented. "You go home, and we'll meet you there."

"Yay!" Mimi took off running home, her long black hair streaming behind her in the wind.

Belle shook her head and turned to Georges. _"You'll _come to the bookstore with me, won't you?"

Georges grinned. "Of course. I love the bookstore. It's my favorite place. Do you think Monsieur Lisseur might have any new poetry books? Or maybe something about knights, like that King Arthur book?"

"Oh, maybe!" Belle put her arm around her son as they headed to the store, talking eagerly about what new delights might await there.

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Mimi ran as fast as she could, loving the feeling of speed and the wind in her face. Who wanted to just sit around staring at words on a page when they could be out _doing _things - running and climbing and having fun? Mama always said books were full of adventure, but Mimi didn't want to read about _other _people having adventures. She wanted to have her _own! _

As she approached the house, her eyes lit up. Her Papa was sitting on the porch with his two hounds next to him. "Papa!" she cried, running towards him and immediately tackling him.

Gaston was nearly knocked over by the 70-pound black-haired cannonball crashing into him. The dogs joined in by barking eagerly and scrambling up to lick Mimi's face as she tried to wrestle her father down. Laughing, Gaston joked, "So, you think you're big enough to take _me?"_ Getting to his feet, he picked her up. "But you're not too big for _this!" _Grinning, he spun her around, then flipped her upside down while she shrieked and giggled and kicked her feet.

"You came home early today!" she said happily when he put her down.

He nodded. "Georges needs to work on his shooting, so I told him I'd help him practice this week." He looked around. "Where is he?"

Mimi frowned, feeling jealous that Papa had quit his hunting early and rushed home specially to spend time with her _brother_. "He and Mama went to the bookstore."

"Ah. Knowing your mother, that could take a while," Gaston said, sitting down on the porch again.

Mimi had an idea. "Papa, since I'm going hunting with you Saturday, could you teach _me _how to shoot?" she asked hopefully.

"You?" Gaston was delighted by her interest. He was tempted to say yes...but good sense intervened, and he reluctantly shook his head. "Sorry, but you're too young. And quite frankly, wildcat...at this point, I think putting a loaded rifle in your hand would just be _asking_ for trouble." He sounded amused at the thought. "That's all I need: to hear that you were showing off and accidentally blew someone's head off!" He smiled to take the sting out of his words, and ruffled her hair. "Tell you what. Show me that you're responsible, and that you can follow rules, and mind your mother, and maybe in a couple of years, we'll see."

"A couple of _years?" _Mimi was crestfallen. "How can I go hunting if I can't shoot?"

Gaston reflected on that. She did have a point. "Well...your brothers started out with a bow and arrow..."

Mimi perked up. "Ooh! A bow and arrow! Can I learn that?"

"Well...I don't know..."

"Please, Papa?" Mimi wheedled. "_Please?_ I want to be a great archer, just like _you!"_

Gaston simply couldn't say no to _that. _He grinned at his daughter, a chip off the old block. His girl had hunting in her blood, no doubt about it...just like her old man, he thought proudly.

"Well, all right, _if_ you promise to be careful and follow the rules," he said, making a big show of relenting, but in truth he was just as eager as she was. He couldn't wait to see what Mimi could do.

"I promise! Oh, thank you, Papa!" she said, hugging him.

He smiled. "Wait here and I'll go get Georges' old bow and quiver." He patted her head and went into the house.

Mimi hugged herself with excitement. _Finally!_ She was going to learn how to use a bow and arrow and become a mighty hunter! People would admire her and tell stories about her, just like they did about Papa.

Oh, if only the boys from school were here. She was _dying_ to tell someone about it!

Then she saw someone coming up the road. She shaded her eyes with her hand. It was that older girl from church, the one with Mme. Grognon, who'd sounded so impressed when Mimi said she wasn't scared to go in the forest. Wait till she heard _this! _Mimi grinned and headed for the road.

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Paige Grognon held the list tightly in her hand as she followed the road that led to the center of town, where the marketplace was. She was going to the bookshop to get the books her brother Luc needed for school. Her mother had grumbled when she'd looked over the list – "A lot of useless nonsense!" she'd sniffed. "Stories about flying horses and magic...what _is _that woman thinking?" But she wanted him to do well in school, which meant buying the books the teacher had listed.

As Paige passed by a big house, she was startled to see someone running from the house toward her. She was new to the village; she didn't know anyone here. As the figure approached, she saw that it was the schoolmistress' daughter, that little girl that her mother said was so wild and unruly and uncivilized.

"Hi!" the girl said. "Remember me from church? I'm Mimi."

"H-hello," Paige said hesitantly. "I'm Paige." She knew her mother wouldn't approve of her talking to this girl.

Mimi didn't notice Paige's hesitation. She was bursting with the need to share her news. "Guess what? My Papa just went to get a bow and arrow for me! He's going to teach me archery!"

"Really?" Paige could only imagine what her mother would say about _that._

Mimi nodded. "I need to know how to shoot for when we go hunting on Saturday. Oh, I can't wait!" She jumped up and down, unable to contain her excitement. "I'm gonna be the best hunter _ever!"_

Paige reminded herself that pride was a sin, and that girls should be modest and demure at all times. Mother said that this girl would surely come to a bad end. But somehow...looking at Mimi's bright eyes and cheerful grin, Paige couldn't really see the wickedness.

Tentatively, she said, "You know, girls really aren't _supposed_ to do things like hunting. That kind of thing is for boys."

Mimi frowned. "Why?"

Paige found herself at a loss. It was just the way things were – she'd never questioned it. "Well...I guess because they could get hurt," she suggested. "Girls are delicate. That's why they take care of the house and the children. Boys are strong and tough."

Mimi snorted. "I'm stronger and tougher than any boy in this town!" she bragged. "Look!" Proudly she stuck out her arm and clenched it, showing off her muscle. "And I'll beat them all at hunting, too – you'll see." Her eyes lit up with a new thought. "Maybe I'll even kill a _bear!"_

Paige had to smile at that. Despite herself, she found herself admiring the little girl. She was so fearless, so confident, so full of _life. _Paige remembered Mimi saying she wasn't even afraid of wild animals in the forest. How could a mere girl be so brave?

But she wouldn't stay that way, Paige told herself. As she got older, she'd no doubt learn her place. Her bold ways, so inappropriate for a girl, would be tamed, and she would become a proper young lady, quiet and modest and well-behaved...like Paige herself. Paige was surprised to feel a little sad at the thought.

A voice called, "Okay, Mimi! Ready to become a hunter?" Paige looked up to see a man on the porch of the house – the biggest, strongest man she'd ever seen.

Mimi beamed. "Coming, Papa!" She looked back at Paige. "I have to go now."

"All right. It was nice talking to you," Paige said. Impulsively, she added, "I hope you _do_ get a bear on Saturday!" Then, a little shocked at herself, she looked around guiltily to make sure no one was listening.

"Thanks!" Mimi said. Thoughtfully she studied Paige. "You know...you're kinda nice."

"Really?" Paige was surprised, but pleased. "Thank you."

"See you!" Mimi turned and flew toward the house. "I'm here, Papa!"

Smiling, Paige headed toward the bookstore.


	10. A Hunting We Will Go

As Belle and Georges entered the bookstore, a young couple was just leaving. They greeted Belle as they left, being former students of hers.

"It looks like business is good," Belle said to Monsieur Liseur, smiling.

"Yes, thanks to you!" Monsieur Liseur said with a chuckle. "Ever since you took over the school, the young people have been flocking to my shop. It does my heart good to see so many people in this town reading; I never thought I'd see the day. Time was when you were my only customer, remember?"

"If you can _call_ me a customer, when I was always borrowing books without paying for them!" Belle reminded him sheepishly.

Monsieur Liseur laughed. "Well, you've certainly made up for it since, with all the new business you've brought in! Speaking of which, I have some new treats for you two." His eyes twinkled in anticipation as he reached behind the counter and brought out two books. "This is a new novel I think you'll both like – _Candide, _by Voltaire. It's caused quite a sensation in Paris, Hervé tells me."

Belle was delighted. She took the book and leafed through it. "I can't wait to read it! How is Hervé, by the way?"

"Oh, fine. He's been very busy lately – the university expanded its literature department, so he's been spending a lot of time hiring new professors and such. He's also working on a new book; he said he'll send you a copy once it's published."

"Oh, good," Belle said, pleased.

The bookseller turned to Georges. "And Georges, I think you'll especially enjoy this." He held out another book. "It's a collection of poetry by Andre Marie de Chenier."

"Oh, thanks!" Georges said, his eyes lighting up as he took the book. "He's one of my favorites!"

"I know," the bookseller said with a smile. "Which reminds me: how is your _own _poetry comng along, young man? Written anything new lately?"

"Georges wrote the most _beautiful _poem the other day," Belle said proudly, putting her arm around Georges' shoulder.

"Ah, you must bring it in to show me, Georges!" Monsieur Liseur said, beaming. "You know I always enjoy your poems! One day in the future, I fully expect to be selling _The Complete Works of Georges Avenant," _he added with a wink.

Georges blushed shyly, but looked pleased. "I've been writing a lot of poems about nature...trying to show the beauty of nature, but also to show we can learn from it," he explained.

"Really? That sounds fascinating," Monsieur Liseur said with interest. "Tell me more about it."

Soon he and Georges were deep in conversation. Belle went to browse among the bookshelves to see what else might strike her interest.

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At the same moment, Paige was approaching the bookstore. As she entered, she saw that the bookseller was engrossed in conversation with a boy. Uncertainly, she hung back by the door, not wanting to interrupt.

"Hello," said a friendly voice on the other side of her. Startled, Paige turned to see the schoolmistress standing by one of the shelves. "You're the minister's daughter, aren't you? Luc's sister? Your brother is in my class."

Paige hesitated, conflicted. On the one hand, she was sure that her mother wouldn't like her talking to this woman. But on the other hand, it would be unforgivably rude not to answer. After all, Paige had been taught to always be polite and respectful to her elders. "Yes, madame. My name is Paige."

The woman smiled warmly. "I'm Belle Avenant. Welcome to Molyneaux."

"Thank you," Paige said shyly. The woman seemed so nice that it was hard not to be nice back. And she had a kind smile. Paige smiled tentatively in return.

"How do you like it here so far?" Belle went on.

Paige was surprised to be asked for her opinion. Usually she just did as she was told; Mother always said that children, especially girls, were to be seen and not heard. She had to think for a moment. "I...guess I like it," she offered hesitantly.

"Well, it takes time to get used to a new village," Belle said encouragingly. "Even for the grown-ups! After all, your father has a whole new parish to get to know."

"Actually, this is Father's first parish," Paige said.

"Oh? Wasn't he the minister in your old village?" Belle asked.

Paige shook her head. "No, Grandfather was. You see, when Father was first ordained, Grandfather said Father wasn't ready to go out on his own yet," she explained, unable to hide her distress at the memory.

"That must have been hard for your father," said Belle sympathetically.

Paige nodded. She had always hated the way her domineering grandfather treated both her parents. Even Mother was quiet and meek in his presence. Paige had always tried her best to be a good girl, obedient and quiet and not causing any trouble, keeping her feelings to herself. But inside, it had upset her. She knew she shouldn't talk to a stranger about her family, but Mme. Avenant seemed so kind, and so genuinely interested in what she had to say, that Paige found herself continuing on despite herself. No one ever wanted to hear her thoughts; she'd never had the chance to say these things.

"Grandfather insisted that Father work as his deacon so he could train him the right way," she explained. "He said he wanted to make sure his daughter's husband was fit to be a minister before he got his own parish. So Father worked for Grandfather for a long time. But when we heard of the opening here, Father said he was going to take it, no matter what. He'd been waiting a long time to go out on his own."

"Oh, I see. This must be a wonderful opportunity for him, then," Belle said. "But I'm sure he also learned a lot by working for your grandfather," she added diplomatically.

"Not really," Paige said softly. "They didn't really see eye to eye." She closed her eyes for a moment, remembering the arguments, how she used to hide in her room when she heard her grandfather's stern, loud voice. Suddenly, the words poured out of her as though a dam had been removed. "Grandfather said that Father was a fool. He said people are born sinners, and the only way to keep them from being wicked is to make them afraid to do wrong. He'd say, 'You have to be _strict_ with your congregation, just like with your children! Why do you think my daughter is such a good wife to you? I was firm with her right from the beginning. I taught her right from wrong and made it clear that bad behavior is punished. No arguments, no excuses, no talking back. That's how you have to be with your congregants. You can't _coddle_ them! You have to put the fear of God into them!' His sermons were all about Hell and eternal torment." She shivered at the memory. "But Father said no, that's not the kind of minister he wants to be. Father said that church should be a welcoming place. He said people should find comfort and strength there, and get closer to God, and be inspired to become better people."

"I like your father's idea. That's a lovely way of looking at church," Belle said. "But sometimes even adults disagree on the best way to do things," she added, trying to make Paige feel better.

She thought about what Paige had said. As much as she disliked Mathilde Grognon, Belle found herself feeling a bit of sympathy for her. What must her childhood have been like, with such a father? She felt a rush of gratitude for her own dear, loving Papa.

Suddenly Paige's pale face turned red as she realized what she'd done. She was filled with shame. What was she _doing, _spilling her family's private business to a complete stranger? Where was her sense of propriety? Mother would _kill _her if she found out! "I...I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have spoken out of turn like that," she said anxiously. "It's disrespectful to my elders."

"It's all right," Belle reassured her. "You didn't do anything wrong. And I won't say anything."

Relief flooded through Paige. "Thank you," she said gratefully.

The door opened, and they looked up as a young man entered. He was about 17, with bright red hair, freckles, and a lively, animated expression.

"Hello, Nicolas!" Belle said on seeing him. Like all of the young people in town, he was one of her former students.

His freckled face broke into an infectious grin. "Hi, Mme. Avenant! How are you?"

Hearing the young man's loud, cheerful voice, Monsieur Liseur looked up. "Goodness, more customers! I'm sorry, I was so busy talking to Georges here I didn't notice! Nicolas, the glassblowing book you asked for came in yesterday."

"Oh, great – more ammunition for me! Thanks!" Nicolas said, rubbing his hands. He explained to Belle, "Pop always wants to do everything the same way his great-grandfather did when he started the glass business. He says 'what was good enough then is good enough now.' But I say: times have changed, and I bet there's better, more modern techniques we can use. So I asked Monsieur Liseur to get some up-to-date books on glassblowing, to help me make my case."

"That was a smart idea," Belle said admiringly.

Paige listened to Nicolas with fascination. She admired the way this boy could boldly speak his mind and wasn't afraid to disagree with his father. She couldn't imagine herself ever _daring_ to contradict her own parents like that.

"Ah, here it is," Monsieur Liseur said, finding Nicolas's book. "Oh, and I also got in a new book of those tall tales you like."

"Thanks!" Nicolas said. Then he noticed Paige. "But this young lady was here before me. I'll wait."

"Oh, no," Paige said, startled. She hadn't thought he'd even noticed she was there. "It's all right. You can go first. I don't mind."

He shook his head. "Come on. What kind of gentleman would I be if I barged ahead of a lady who was here first?" He bowed gallantly and gestured toward the counter. "After you, Mademoiselle...?" He paused questioningly for her name.

Paige blushed. No boy had ever talked to her like that before, so friendly and charming. "Paige Grognon," she said shyly.

"Glad to meet you, Mlle. Grognon," he said, smiling. He had such a nice smile.

Paige smiled back. Then, feeling self-conscious, she quickly hurried to the counter and handed Monsieur Liseur the list.

"Ah, this is familiar! Belle's reading list for new students, I see," the bookseller said looking at the list. He began collecting the books from the shelves. "Are you starting school here?"

Paige shook her head. "They're for my brother."

Monsieur Liseur stacked the books neatly on the counter. "There you go: the books for your brother. Now: anything for you?"

Georges added, "Monsieur Liseur has _all _kinds of books in his store. Whatever you like to read, he has it!"

"Oh...no, thank you," Paige said, adding apologetically, "My mother doesn't approve of girls reading too much. She says the only books a girl needs to read are her cookbook and her Bible."

Belle shook her head in annoyance. She may have had some sympathy for Mme. Grognon's upbringing, but that kind of attitude toward reading was her biggest pet peeve.

"Really?" Nicolas was saying in surprise. "Most of the girls here read. Boys too." He leaned on the counter casually. "But I know what you mean. Sometimes these old folks get stuck in the past. Just like my Pop with our glass business. But I say, you gotta to move with the times." He winked at Paige, who blushed again. Every time he looked at her or spoke to her, she felt tingly all over.

She distracted herself by asking the bookseller, "How much do I owe you?" Monsieur Liseur told her the price, and she paid for the books.

"Well, I'd better get home." She carefully lifted the large stack of books off the counter.

Nicolas looked concerned. "That's too heavy for you. Wait a minute while I pay for mine, and I'll walk you home and carry them for you, all right?"

"W-walk me home?" Paige stammered. She couldn't believe it. The idea was unbelievably thrilling...but overwhelming and intimidating, too. She'd never even _talked_ to a boy before today. He was so outgoing and witty -- what on earth could she possibly _say _to him? She felt tongue-tied with shyness.

Flustered and self-conscious, she panicked. "Oh, no, that's all right, I can manage! But thank you!" Quickly she hurried out before he could say anything else.

Outside, she berated herself. She fervently hoped he didn't think she was rude. She liked him so much -- she'd just been so overwhelmed by it all, not knowing what to say. Besides, if her mother saw her with this boy, she would start asking questions, demanding to know who he was and what he was doing with Paige...knowing her mother, she'd even give the boy a stern scolding for daring to walk with her unchaperoned! Paige would die of embarrassment if that happened. Her immediate instinct was to say no and run away.

But walking home, she kept replaying the scene in her mind – the way he had smiled at her, and winked, and talked to her so charmingly, calling her "Mademoiselle," offering to carry her books...She found herself wondering if she might run into him again. She remembered Belle's earlier question, and smiled to herself. _I DO like this village, _she thought.

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Back at the bookshop, Nicolas looked worriedly at the door through which Paige had exited. "I hope I didn't say anything to upset her."

Belle shook her head. "No, I think she's just very shy."

Nicolas looked sympathetic. "She's new in town, too, probably doesn't know anyone yet...It must be hard on her."

Belle smiled. Nicolas had always been a kind-hearted boy. In school, he was always the one to invite an unpopular child to join a game, or protect the younger ones from bullies. His father had once complained to Belle that he was forever bringing home orphaned birds and stray dogs.

Nicolas paid for his purchases, waved, and left. Belle and Georges paid for their own books, said goodbye to the bookseller, picked up Lili, and headed for home.

As they approached the house, Belle was surprised to see Gaston and Mimi in the yard. She was even more surprised to see that Mimi was holding a bow. As they watched, Mimi notched an arrow, drew it back slowly, and aimed at a target hung from a tree. With her brow furrowed in concentration, she released the arrow. It flew through the air, straight to the bullseye.

_"Yes!" _Gaston said. "Perfect!"

Mimi gasped. "I _did_ it!" she crowed. "I really did it!"

"You sure did!" Gaston said proudly. He looked up and saw Belle. "Belle, our daughter's a natural! You watch: she's going to be as good as me one day!"

"Congratulations, Mimi," Belle said, but she was a little worried. She motioned to Gaston to come over to her, and whispered, "Gaston, do you really think this is a good idea? I don't want her to get hurt, or to hurt someone else."

"I know, I wasn't sure about it myself at first either," he admitted. "She actually asked me at first to teach her how to shoot a _gun, _soI thought this was the lesser of two evils. But Belle...she's _amazing!" _He couldn't contain his enthusiasm and pride. "Most kids take weeks just to learn how to hold the _bow_ correctly. But I've only been teaching her for an hour, and already she's hitting bullseyes! I've only ever heard of one other kid who caught on so fast!"

"Who?" Belle asked.

Gaston grinned. _"Me,_ of course."

Belle smiled. "Well...I'm glad she's enjoying it so much. I just hope she's careful."

"She will be." Gaston turned to Mimi. "I made it very clear that she is _not _to use a bow and arrow unless I'm there to watch. Right, Mimi?"

"Right! I promise!" Mimi said. "Can I practice some more now?"

Gaston wanted to say yes. He couldn't wait to teach her the difference in technique between shooting near and far objects, and even teach her tricks like shooting an apple off a tree. But noticing Georges standing next to Belle, he put his eagerness aside. Mimi was already doing well; she would develop quickly, he knew. Georges was the one who neededhis help now.

He shook his head in answer to her question. "We can practice more tomorrow. Right now, it's your brother's turn." He turned to his son. "Georges, I came home early today to help you practice your shooting. We'll make a sharpshooter of you yet!"

"Okay, Papa," Georges said agreeably. He didn't mind target shooting where he didn't have to kill anything. But he felt a little guilty that his father had come home early just to help him become a better hunter.

Gaston noticed Mimi's jealous expression and deftly moved to distract her. "Mimi, in the meantime, you have other skills to learn too. There's a lot more to hunting than just shooting. In fact, the most _important_ skill you need is something you can practice right now, while I'm working with Georges."

Mimi perked up. "What?"

"Being quiet."

Mimi glared at him. "That's not funny!"

Gaston laughed at her outraged expression. "I'm not kidding - I mean it. A hunter needs to be able to sit completely still, and walk slowly and silently. No sudden movements. You could be the best archer or marksman in the world, but if you go clomping around the forest and scaring all the game, you'll never bag anything." He looked at her appraisingly."Here, show me how you walk."

Mimi marched around the yard obligingly. Gaston shook his head. "Slow down, and set your feet carefully, gently. You need to blend into the forest so well that the animals don't even know you're there. And every few steps, stop and look around. Take in every detail – the sounds you hear, the signs of wildlife you see...Be aware of everything around you." He demonstrated. "Practice that, and then afterward, you can tell me everything you noticed."

"Okay!" Mimi said enthusiastically, and started prowling around the yard, imagining she was stalking game.

Gaston turned back to Georges with a wink. "That'll keep her busy for a while. Now, let's work on your shooting."

He helped Georges with his posture and technique, offering tips as Georges practiced. After a while, Georges was hitting the bullseye consistently about 70 percent of the time, and getting close the rest of the time. "Very good, son!" Gaston said approvingly. "That's how you do it!"

Georges smiled. "Thanks, Papa." In his head, a warning bell was going off. He knew that this was a mistake - he _shouldn't _be trying to hit the bullseye. He should purposely do _badly,_ appear worse than he really was, so it wouldn't seem strange later when he kept missing his shots on hunting trips.

But he pushed the thought away. He just couldn't bear to miss on purpose now, when no animal was involved. It felt too good to hear Papa praising him, to do _something _to make him proud. The approval in his father's voice made him feel warm all over.

Then Gaston added, "You keep shooting like that, you'll get a buck of your own in no time!" and Georges' heart sank.

Georges thought fast. Suddenly, seeing Mimi still prowling around the yard, he had a brainstorm. "Papa, I was just thinking..."

"What, son?"

"Well...Mimi is coming hunting on Saturday for the first time. And you _know _how much she loves to have all the attention. So, maybe you should take her out alone on Saturday. I think that would make it really special for her -- just you and her alone for her first hunting trip. Then you can really focus on her, you know?"

Gaston thought about it. "Hmm, you're right, she probably _would _like that...but you're sure you wouldn't mind?"

Georges shook his head. "No, I've been out hunting plenty of times. This is her first time; it should be special."

Gaston looked at his daughter. "Mimi!" he called. "On Saturday, do you want it to just be you and me out hunting? Georges says he doesn't mind staying home."

"Really? Just the two of us?" Mimi's eyes lit up. "_Yes!" _She ran to Georges and hugged him. "Thanks, Georges!"

Belle smiled approvingly. "That was very thoughtful of you, Georges."

"Thanks," Georges said, embarrassed. It was true, his sister _would _love to have Papa's attention all to herself, but he had another motive too. It meant a week's reprieve - a week where he could skip hunting and not worry.

"Great, then it's settled. And it will give you more time to practice your shooting," Gaston said cheerfully.

O o o o o o

On Saturday, Mimi was up before anyone else. She ran into her parents' room and tugged at her father's hand, which was hanging off the bed. "Papa, it's Saturday! Come on! Let's _go!" _

"Mmmffff," mumbled Gaston sleepily. He rubbed his eyes. "What time is it?"

"It's _Saturday!"_ Mimi repeated impatiently.

"Just barely," her father said, glancing out the window, where the darkness outside was just beginning to lighten. Seeing Mimi's disappointment, he chuckled. "All right, wildcat. You're right: the early bird catches the worm. Give me a few minutes to wake up, okay?"

Mimi beamed. "Okay!" She ran downstairs.

Belle stirred and smiled. "She's enthusiastic, isn't she?"

"Just a little," Gaston joked. "It's good; shows initiative. I was just the same at her age." He got out of bed. "You go back to sleep; it's still early."

"No, I want to see you two off and wish her luck," Belle said, getting up as well.

When they entered the kitchen a few minutes later, fully dressed, Mimi said eagerly, "Look, Papa! I made you breakfast!"

Gaston looked with amusement at the plate of burnt toast and cup of watery tea she had set at his place at the table. "That's great, honey," he said, sitting down.

"Now eat quick so we can _go!"_ she urged impatiently.

"Not so fast! I still have to load my rifle, and the dogs and the horses have to be fed," he reminded her.

_"I'll_ feed them! You eat!" In a flash, Mimi was out the door.

Belle smiled from the stove, where she was preparing eggs and bacon. "Well, I have to say, if hunting gets Mimi to do chores willingly, I'm all for it!" she said jokingly.

"I knew it was a good idea," Gaston agreed.

When Mimi came back in, Gaston was loading his rifle with buckshot. Mimi leaned forward to watch with interest. "No bullets?" she asked. "Aren't we hunting deer?"

Gaston shook his head. "Deer hunting takes a lot of patience," he explained. "It means sitting still for hours, not making a sound – that might be hard for you at this point. We'll work up to that, don't worry! But I thought, for your very first hunt, you'd rather see something with more action." He grinned at her.

"Ooh, like what?" Mimi asked, bouncing up and down.

"Rabbit hunting," Gaston said, closing the rifle with a snap and standing up. "I think that's more your speed: there's lots of noise and action and running, _and_ we get to take the dogs with us."

"Great!" Mimi said eagerly. She ran to get her bow and arrows.

Seeing her equipped, Gaston cautioned, "Now, Mimi, listen. Don't expect to _get_ anything today, all right? This is your first hunt. The point of today is just for you to watch, listen and learn. I'm going to teach you all about animals' habits, and tracking, and signs to look for – there's a lot to know. And you only started learning archery a few days ago. It can take months or even _years_ before you actually start _bagging_ anything. Understand? I don't want you to expect to be a great hunter immediately, and then be disappointed. It takes time, practice and experience."

Mimi's face fell. She wanted to be great right _now. _"Did _you_ get anything your first time hunting?"

"Me? Well...yes," Gaston admitted. He smiled reminiscently. "It was a raccoon up in a tree. Big one, too." Seeing Mimi's face light up, he cleared his throat and shook his head. "But you can't go by me," he warned. "That's an exception. Most kids go a _long_ time before they make that first kill."

"Well, all right," Mimi said, but inwardly her spirits had risen. If Papa could do it, maybe she could too. "I can still _bring _my bow and arrows, can't I?"

Gaston smiled. "Of course." He whistled for the dogs, who came running to him, tails wagging. "Okay, we're off!"

"Have a good time!" Belle called as the dogs bounded out the door, followed by Gaston and Mimi.

Soon the other children came downstairs, yawning, and sat down to breakfast. "I can't wait to get to the gunsmith shop today," Alain remarked as he took a forkful of eggs. "Monsieur Armurier says that since I'm doing so well with fixing the guns, today he's going to start teaching me how to build one from _scratch!"_

"Oh, that sounds interesting!" Belle said, sitting down at the table and pouring a cup of tea. "How exactly do you do that?"

"There's a lot that goes into it," Alain told her. "First you have to figure out the measurements, and then you craft the stock out of wood, and then you have to forge the metal and cast it into the right shapes...I'm only just starting today, so I'll tell you more about it once I learn how to do it all." He beamed at the prospect. "Imagine when I'm able to make a whole gun, all by myself?"

"That's something to be proud of!" Belle agreed. She smiled fondly at him. "I'm so glad you're enjoying your job so much, Alain. You have such a talent for it – it's really perfect for you."

"Mama," interrupted Lili, "can I go to Jeanne's house today? Her mama invited me."

"I know, Monique told me," Belle said. "Alain, can you drop Lili off at Monique's house on your way to work?"

"Sure," Alain said, getting up. "Come on, little sis."

"Okay!" Lili jumped up, kissed Belle goodbye, and ran to her brother. Alain put his hand on her shoulder and they headed out the door.

Belle started to clear the dishes, and Georges immediately sprang up to help her. "Thank you, Georges," she said, smiling. After the dishes were washed and put away, she added, "Well, it looks like it's just you and me today. Do you want to read a book together?"

"Sure," Georges said happily. Belle made some cocoa, and they settled down on the couch to read _Candide. _Afterward they got into a lively discussion about it. Then Georges showed Belle some new poems he had written.

"Oh, these are marvellous, Georges," Belle said admiringly, looking at the pages. "You have such a beautiful way of describing things and putting your thoughts into words. Your poems really touch my heart."

"Thanks," Georges said, embarrassed but pleased. He was having a wonderful day. It was just such a _relief _not to have to go hunting today, not to have to put on an act. And it felt so good to spent some time alone with his mother, enjoying her undivided attention. It was always so busy and crowded and noisy at their house, all the children clamoring for attention or needing something. He cherished times like this, when they could just sit quietly, sharing books and talking without interruption.

At 11 a.m., Belle looked up. "Oh, look at the time!" she said, getting up. "I'd better start doing my shopping now, so I can get back to make lunch." She smiled affectionately at him. "Thanks for a lovely morning, Georges. It was so nice to get to spend some time together. And thank you for showing me your poems!"

"Any time," he said, smiling back. He took _Candide _and went outside. It was a sunny fall day, cool and breezy but comfortable. He sat down under a tree and started to read where they'd left off, and was soon lost in the story.

A little while later, he heard someone call his name. He looked up to see his friend Henri, LeFou's older son. "Hey, Georges!" Henri said. "A bunch of us are going to the meadow to play ball. Want to come?"

"Sure," said Georges enthusiastically, getting up. Having gotten out of going hunting today, he felt a wonderful sense of freedom, the day stretching out before him to do whatever he wanted, with no pressure. "Come on, Henri – I'll race you there!"

"Okay!" Laughing, the two boys took off running to meet their friends.

_OO o o o o o_

At the meadow, while the older boys played ball, the littler ones were having races. LeFou's younger son, six-year-old Denis, bent his knee in starting position with the other boys, feeling tense. "Ready, set, go!" one boy called. The boys took off running.

Denis ran as fast as he could, but he was soon out of breath. With his short legs, he could never seem to keep up. He came in last, just like always.

And just like always, tall, slim Valentin came in first. He tossed his platinum-blond hair and grinned. "The winner!" he crowed, raising his fists in a victory gesture. He glanced back at Denis and laughed. "Last _again,_ Denis? You're such a slowpoke!"The other boys laughed.

Denis forced himself to grin and shrug good-naturedly. "I know, I'm like a snail," he joked.

"You're even slower than a snail!" Valentin joked. He turned to the others. "What should we play next?"

"Let's go climb some trees!" They ran toward the nearby grove of trees.

Denis followed with a sigh. He wished more than anything that he could be tall and strong and fast like Valentin. He _hated_ always coming in last. It wasn't that he got bullied or anything like that; although the boys did tease him sometimes, he always laughed along with them, and even made his _own _jokes about being short and slow. Since he was a good sport, they'd move on to something else. The kids who got picked on were the ones who got upset and cried. And Denis had an older brother who was well-liked, which helped too.

But he hated feeling like he wasn't as good as the other boys. It seemed like all the games the boys liked to play involved running or climbing or catching balls or hitting targets, and he didn't measure up. There was nothing he was good at, nothing that made him _special._

He grabbed the bottom branch of a tree and tried to pull himself up. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his friend Lili passing by with her mother.

Seeing Denis, her face lit up and she ran toward him. "Hi, Denis!" she said, running over to him. "Mama, can Denis come to our house?"

"Of course," Belle said.

"Yay! Want to come over and play?" Lili asked Denis.

"Sure," he said, glad to give up tree-climbing. He ran to tell his older brother Henri that he was going to Lili's, then joined her and Belle as they walked to their house.

"Come on, Denis!" The two children ran upstairs to Lili's room.

"What should we play?" Denis asked.

"Can we play fairy tales? And I'm a princess?" Lili wheedled.

Denis smiled. "All right." He knew that any other boy would think it was sissyish to play fairy tale "let's pretend" games with a girl. But secretly, he loved those games. Lili would tell the story – sometimes one she'd made up, sometimes a fairy tale she'd heard from her mother – and they would act it out. She was always the princess or the beautiful damsel in distress, and he was always the brave prince or knight in shining armor who rescued her.

It was silly...but somehow, when he acted out those stories with her, Denis' imagination took over. He got caught up in the story, and it felt _real._ He wasn't short, clumsy Denis anymore, always coming in last, not good at anything. No. He was tall, handsome Sir Denis, the strong, fearless knight, embarking on perilous quests, performing amazing feats, and slaying dragons to save the princess.

When he played with Lili, he was a hero.

Now he said, "Okay, sure. What story should we do?"

Lili clapped her hands. "Oh, goody! I know a really good story - Mama told it to us. It's about a prince and a princess and a flying horse! I'll tell you how it goes..."

Happily, they acted out the adventure. Denis rode on the magic horse, flying to foreign lands, fighting the villain and finally rescuing the princess. And when Lili sighed, "My hero!", he felt ten feet tall.

O o o o o ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Denis and Lili played all afternoon, until Denis' brother Henri came to fetch him home for dinner. Soon after they left, Mimi and Gaston got back from their hunting trip.

"Mama! Mama! Guess what!" Mimi cried, bursting into the house. Gaston followed, grinning, carrying his game bag.

Alain, who was on the couch, got up and went to meet them. "Hey, sis. How'd it go?"

"Look!" Mimi said excitedly, holding up a duck.

"Hey! Not bad!" Alain said, impressed. "I didn't bag _anything_ my first time hunting. In fact, I didn't get anything till I was 10 or 11. Good for you, sis!"

Hearing the commotion, Georges and Lili ran down the stairs and Belle came out of the kitchen. Mimi showed off her prize. "Look what I got!"

"You got that all by yourself, Mimi?" Belle asked.

"She sure did!" said Gaston proudly, putting his hand on her shoulder. "Beautiful shot, too."

Belle smiled. "That's _wonderful,_ honey! I'll take it in the kitchen right now - we can have it for dinner." Mimi beamed, delighted.

"Congratulations! That's really great!" Georges told Mimi. "I'm glad you had a good time." He _was _genuinely glad for her; he liked to see his sister so happy. At the same time, though, he couldn't suppress a feeling of envy. Not of the kill itself -- he certainly had had plenty of chances to make a kill of his own. He simply didn't _want _to. But he couldn't help feeling wistful as he saw his father glowing with pride at his sister's accomplishment.

It was so _easy _for Mimi to make Papa proud, so easy for her to be exactly what he wanted. Georges knew in his heart that he would never, ever measure up. Papa was never going to beam with pride and brag about Georges the way he did about Mimi.

As if to underscore the point, his father caught his eye and said with a wink, "You'd better keep practicing, Georges! Your little sister's giving you a run for your money!" He clearly thought a little competition might motivate Georges to improve.

"Yeah, she's really good," Georges said, feeling trapped.

Gaston added encouragingly, "Don't worry, son. You did _very_ well when you were practicing the other day. Next time it'll be _you_ making the kill. I can feel it!"

Georges shrugged and went into the kitchen to see if his mother needed help. She thanked him and set him to work peeling potatoes.

"Mimi sure did great today, didn't she?" Georges said as he worked.

"Yes..." Belle said, looking at him sympathetically. "You know, Georges," she added casually, putting the prepared duck into the oven to roast, "I keep thinking about that poem you showed me today, about the seed growing toward the sun and blossoming. Your imagery was so beautiful and so vivid – I could _see_ the brilliance of the flower and feel the warmth of the sun. You really have a rare talent." She smiled at him.

He smiled back, feeling a little better. _At least Mama thinks I'm special and talented. SHE doesn't care if I hunt or not._

Later at dinner, as Belle passed Mimi the potatoes, she said, "So, Mimi, tell us about your day. How did you get that duck? I thought you two were hunting rabbits."

"We were!" Mimi said, in between shoveling potatoes into her mouth. "Oh, Mama, it was so exciting! The dogs were sniffing around, and then suddenly they'd run forward, baying, and then _boom!_ All these rabbits came running out! And Mama, they were going _so _fast, like streaks of lightning! There was only a few seconds to get them before they went into their holes. But Papa was amazing – he made _every_ shot!" She smiled at her dad, her eyes shining with hero worship. "He's the _greatest!"_

"So I've heard," Belle said, smiling in amusement at her husband, who winked at her.

"So then, _I_ tried to shoot some with my bow and arrow. But I _missed!_ I was so mad!" Mimi went on.

Gaston chuckled. "I'll say. She threw the bow on the ground as hard as she could!" He reached across the table and ruffled her hair. Mimi smiled, looking embarrassed. Gaston went on, "But I told her, it takes a lot of skill and practice to shoot rabbits. Hitting something small that's moving fast is a _lot _different from hitting a bullseye on a tree! Even with a gun, it takes a long time to get the knack of it. And with a bow and arrow, it's almost impossible. Even most grown men can't hunt rabbits with a bow."

"But _you_ can, right, Papa?" Mimi asked.

Gaston grinned. "Well, yes," he conceded. "But _not_ when I was nine years old. It took a lot of practice before I could do that."

Mimi set her jaw in determination. "I'm gonna practice and practice and practice until I can do it too!"

"That's the spirit!" Gaston said approvingly.

"So how did you get the duck?" Alain asked curiously.

"Well, we were on our way back, and we were passing by the lake," Mimi said. "I was still upset that I didn't get anything. There was this big clump of reeds by the lake, and suddenly the dogs rushed over there, and they were barking like _crazy!_ And then this whole big FLOCK of ducks flew up! I couldn't believe it! So I just grabbed an arrow and notched it as fast as I could, and I aimed at the ducks, and I shot the arrow...and I _got _one! I really did it! All by myself!" Mimi's eyes were alight with excitement.

"That's very impressive!" Belle said.

"It was the greatest day of my whole _life!"_ Mimi declared happily. "I can't wait to go again!"

In bed that night, she lay awake, too full of plans and dreams to sleep. "I'm going to practice my archery every single day until I'm _perfect_ at it, just like Papa!" she said to Lili. "And then Papa will teach me how to shoot a gun, and I'll get perfect at _that, _too. I'll get more trophies than anyone else, and everyone will say how great I am, and I'll have lots of exciting adventures too! I can't wait!"

"What kind of adventures?" Lili asked.

Mimi thought about it. "Maybe I'll hunt down a ferocious grizzly bear. Or fight off a whole pack of wolves, all by myself, like Papa did that time!" Mimi's imagination took flight. "I could even be a _hero!_ I could rescue people...or catch a wicked band of outlaws single-handed and get a big reward! Wouldn't that be the greatest thing _ever?"_

Lili shook her head. "Ugh, I wouldn't want to do stuff like that! It's too scary!" She leaned back on her pillow with a dreamy expression. "I think the greatest thing ever is to be a _princess._ You get to live in a big shiny castle, and wear lots of pretty dresses and jewels, and you get a handsome prince to be in love with you, and you can have anything you want, and every night there's a big ball and you go dancing!" She sighed happily. _"That_ would be the most fun ever!"

Mimi made a face. "It sounds _boring._ Sitting around in fancy clothes all the time doing _nothing,_ and dancing every night with some stuck-up prince? I'd _hate_ that."

Lili giggled. "I guess that's why you're you and I'm me."

Mimi grinned. "Yeah."

Lili yawned. "Well, I'm getting sleepy. Good night, Mimi."

"'Night." Mimi flopped down to dream of dark forests and danger, wild animals and thrilling adventures, while her little sister drifted off to visions of sparkling ballgowns, handsome princes, and shining castles.


	11. The Castle

_Author's Note: I promised you a prince, and now finally, here he is:) _

_(Oh, and just to be totally clear...King Vincent is this alternate universe's equivalent of the BATB prince. But I named one of his sons Adam just as a little in-joke - hope it doesn't cause any confusion!)_

As the villagers of Molyneaux went about their humble lives, a far grander lifestyle was in evidence less than a day's journey away. Deep in the woods, behind imposing iron gates, across a long bridge spanning a chasm, lay a magnificent shining castle. On this fall afternoon, its shining turrets and graceful spires gleamed in the sunlight, its stately beauty suggesting a life of elegance and luxury, free from worry and care.

Inside those seemingly peaceful walls, however, one man _was _worrying - a short, rotund, mustachioed fellow who wrung his hands, fretting "Where _is _he?" as he hurried from room to room, searching in vain. "Why must he do this _today, _of all days? On my word, I believe his sole purpose in life is to torment me! Wherever can he _be?"_

The clock struck 1:00. The man stopped still as though it were a death knell. "One o'clock already! We have only an hour! Oh, my nerves can't take this…" As he surveyed the room, his eye fell on a portrait of a man on horseback. He brightened. "Horses! That's it! He _loves_ horses! He must have gone to the stables!"

Quickly he rushed outside and hurried across the grounds to the royal stables, where the head groom, a young man of 21, was currying one of the horses. "Chip!" the older man cried hopefully, running towards him. "Is Prince Christophe here, by any chance?"

Chip shook his head as he put down the brush and picked up a hoof pick. "No, Mr. Cogsworth, I haven't seen him at all today."

"Blast it!" fumed Cogsworth in frustration. "Well, if you do see him, tell him to come to the drawing room at once!"

"I will," Chip promised.

Cogsworth ran back into the castle to continue his frantic search. As he entered the dining room, he saw the maitre'd, Lumière, surveying the long royal dining table with satisfaction. Cogsworth opened his mouth to speak to him. But to his annoyance, before he could get a word out, he saw two hands slip around Lumière's waist from behind.

"Ah, cherie," purred Babette, the maid, "you have outdone yourself! But then," she added with a wink, "as masterful as you are, you _always _find a way to bring your performance to greater and greater heights…in _everything_ you do."

Lumière turned to her, putting his arms around her. "As do you, ma petite. You constantly find ways to surprise me with your expertise and…creativity," he said, grinning, and kissed her.

"Stop that!" Cogsworth burst out irritably. "We have far more pressing matters to attend to than your amorous entanglements!"

Lumière shook his head in a long-suffering way. "Calm yourself, mon ami! There is no need to fuss so! I realize that you always become insufferably anxious before an important event, but everything here is up to even _your _high standards of perfection. The castle is spotless, the menu is prepared, Angelique has done a superb job of decorating in honor of the event…all is ready for the Czar of Russia's visit."

"All is ready…except that the _prince_ is missing!" Cogsworth said mournfully, wringing his hands.

"Prince Adam?" Lumière said in surprise. "I saw him in the drawing room not two minutes ago."

"No, not Prince Adam!" snapped Cogsworth. "Do you really think Prince Adam would cause me such worry? Only 16 years old, yet already more mature than many men three times his age…present company included," he added, looking pointedly at Lumière, who rolled his eyes. Cogsworth went on. "No, I refer of course to the _younger _royal highness. His governess had him all cleaned up and dressed in his finest clothes, ready to receive the delegation of visitors, and told him to wait in his room to be summoned…but he has gone missing!"

"Again?" Babette said, her eyes widening. "Mon Dieu, that boy does like to run off! Perhaps we should tie him to a chair next time."

"If only we could," agreed Cogsworth. "And from all accounts, he was last seen with _your _offspring, who no doubt led him astray," he added, looking at the two of them accusingly.

Lumière was offended. "I assure you, René does _not _'lead the prince astray!' If anything, it is the reverse!"

"Be that as it may, they are both missing, and we must find them at once, before the master---"

"Before the master what?" King Vincent asked mildly, entering the room.

"Your majesty!" Cogsworth snapped to attention. "Rest assured that all is prepared for the Czar's visit. The menu is finished, the castle is in readiness—"

"But something is wrong," Vincent finished. "Calm down, Cogsworth, and tell me what it is."

Cogsworth sighed. He hated for the King to have to get involved in the castle's problems – he felt it reflected poorly on himself. As head of the household, it was his job to keep things running so smoothly that the King never had to worry about anything. But since Vincent had asked, Cogsworth had no choice but to answer.

"It's nothing your majesty should have to concern yourself over – I'm sure we'll have everything well in hand in a matter of moments," he told the king. "But…well…it appears that your younger son is...only for the present, I assure you…nowhere to be found."

"Christophe's run off _again?" _Vincent looked up to the heavens and shook his head. "Lumière, Cogsworth, go round up the servants to look for him. You know all his favorite places. I'll go inform the queen – she'll want to know – and then I'll join you."

"Certainly, your majesty," Lumière said with a bow.

"We shall begin the search at once!" Cogsworth added crisply, bowing as well.

"Very good," Vincent said. He went to the library to find his wife.

As he entered the library, he smiled. As he had expected, Queen Rosemary was there, and his eye caught sight of her at once: her striking flame-red hair was impossible to miss. She had pale, milky-white skin that had a tendency to freckle in the sun, and her warm blue eyes resembled those of her husband. Right now she was sitting in one of the comfortable armchairs, engrossed in a book.

"Ah, there she is: my wild English rose," Vincent said, using his pet name for her. "Now, _how_ did I know I would find you here?" He sat down next to her and joked, "Sometimes I think you married me for my library!"

She looked up and smiled. "Well, it _was _a big selling point," she said in the same teasing tone, but hers held a hint of an English accent that she could not eradicate, no matter how hard she tried. Personally, Vincent hoped she never _would _lose her accent – he found it irresistible to hear her speak his own tongue with her unique English lilt. She went on, "I'll never forget the first time you showed it to me – I'd never seen so many books in all my life! But fortunately, the library _also _happened to be attached to the kindest, most generous, most intelligent man I've ever met, so it was an easy decision to make." She kissed him.

"I'm relieved to hear that," he replied, smiling. He took the book from her hand and looked at the cover. "_Russian History and Politics?"_

She nodded. "I wanted to be as informed as possible before our guests arrived. It's fascinating – there are so many differences in the way they do things! For example, unlike our peasants here in France or back in England, who at least have personal freedom, the Russian peasants are serfs who must work only for their lord. He has complete control over their lives: they must obtain his permission to marry or to move, and must pay him a tax as well each time they make such a change in their lives. It's almost like slavery." She sighed. "I suppose it would be imprudent to mention that to our guests, wouldn't it?"

Vincent smiled affectionately. "Changing the entire Russian social structure over dinner? That's ambitious even for you, my dear!"

"You're right. I'll just be polite and talk about the weather, like a proper queen should," she said, making a face.

Vincent laughed. "No, I know you. You'll somehow manage to get all your points and criticisms across, but in such a charming and gracious way that it won't even occur to the Czar to be offended. It's one of your many talents."

Rosemary smiled. "It seems all those years of etiquette lessons did have their use!" Then her expression became questioning. "But tell me, my love – did you come to find me for a reason? The guests aren't here yet, are they?"

Vincent shook his head, his expression growing serious. "No, but it seems Christophe has gone missing again."

She frowned. "Again? Why _today,_ when he knows perfectly well that we have guests coming?"

"That's probably the reason, if you ask me," said Vincent. He stood up and kissed her forehead. "But don't worry about it. He's probably off playing somewhere in the castle, or hiding on purpose as a prank to fool his governess. I'm off to help the servants find him. You stay here; I'll let you know when he turns up, or when the guests do."

Rosemary stood up determinedly. "No, if Christophe is missing, I'll help look for him too. He _is _my son too, after all."

"All right." Vincent took her arm, and they left the library.

O o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

Leaning over the royal pond from the bank, the nine-year-old boy with light brown hair frowned in concentration, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth, and made a grab for the large bullfrog on the rock. But it quickly jumped to a lily pad in the water. "Darn! I nearly had him that time!"

"Chris, we should go back," urged René, a fair-haired boy of the same age, glancing back at the castle. "Those people are going to be here soon."

"Not for a while. We still have time," said Christophe, eyeing the frog and planning his next move. "What's the point of just sitting in my room waiting and doing nothing? Besides, once they get here, the rest of the day is going to be utterly dull. I'm going to have to just _sit _there all afternoon while the grown-ups talk about politics and things like that. It's horrible. You're lucky you don't have to do that!"

"Yeah, I'll just be in the kitchen helping Mrs. Potts. You know, _working," _René pointed out.

"I'd rather be doing that than sitting with boring guests," Christophe said. "Now come on – help me catch this frog!"

René looked wistfully at the pond. It _would _be fun to catch the frog, but… "If we're late, _I'm _the one who's going to get in trouble," he pointed out. "You're a prince – you can do whatever you want. But I'm just a servant. They'll blame me."

Christophe shook his head. "No, they won't. Don't you get it? Like you said, I'm the prince, and you're a servant. That means if I order you to do something, you _have _to do it, right? You have no choice. It's not your fault at all!" He cleared his throat and said in a deep voice, "René, by the royal authority vested in me, I command you to help me catch this frog! Or else I'll throw you in the dungeon! How's that?"

René laughed. "Okay, okay, you win! I'll help. Just make sure you explain it to my father that way! And make it _really_ good. Say you were going to have my head cut off or something."

Christophe grinned. "You got it. Now, let's see…" He tilted his head. "I know!" In a flash, he removed his shoes and stockings and rolled his trousers up to the knee, then slowly waded into the pond.

"Chris! They're going to _kill _you if you get your clothes wet!" René warned.

"I won't. I know what I'm doing," Christophe said confidently. He moved a few feet in front of the lily pad on which the bullfrog rested. "Now, you come up behind him and try to grab him, and if he jumps forward, I'll get him!"

"Okay!" René removed his own shoes and stockings and enthusiastically waded in behind the lily pad. He lunged for the bullfrog, which eluded him by leaping forward. Christophe quickly moved in front of it. As it smacked into his chest, he seized it, even as the impact sent him toppling backward to splash into the pond. He quickly stood up, shaking his long wet hair out of his eyes, still gripping the wiggling bullfrog tightly with both hands. It was a big one: eight inches long and weighing at least a pound. "I got him!" he said triumphantly.

_"Christophe!" _

Hearing his mother's outraged voice, Christophe quickly slipped the bullfrog into an inner pocket of his sopping royal robes. He turned to see three angry faces: his parents and René's father.

"Hello, Mother," Christophe said weakly, while René gulped. This wasn't good.

"What on _earth _do you think you're doing?" Rosemary demanded. "You _know_ we have important guests arriving within the hour!"

"I…just got tired of waiting," Christophe explained lamely. "I thought I'd kill some time, that's all."

Vincent shook his head sternly. "By splashing about in the pond in your finest clothes?" he said angrily. He had expected to find Christophe playing hide-and-seek in the castle, or sneaking sweets from the kitchen – not outside making a complete mess of himself! "Come on. We'll discuss this later. Right now we have to get you bathed and dressed again quickly!" He took his son by the arm and started heading back toward the castle.

"Yes, sir," Christophe said meekly. René quickly picked up their discarded shoes and stockings and followed.

Lumiére glared at his son as they walked. "René, you should have known better than to leave the castle on such an important occasion!"

Christophe spoke up quickly. "It wasn't René's fault! It was all _my_ idea!"

Vincent glanced back at René. "I have no doubt that that's true," he said ruefully. "But I would have expected René to be the voice of reason here."

"He tried, but I ordered him to help me," Christophe said loyally. He didn't want his friend getting in trouble on his account.

Vincent sighed. "All right. Listen to me. René – I am the king. My authority supercedes Christophe's. From now on, if Christophe orders you to do something you _know _I would disapprove of, you have my authority to refuse him. All right?"

"Yes, your highness," René said in a small voice.

As they approached the castle, Vincent said, "Uh-oh. It looks like the Czar's carriages have already arrived. We can't bring Christophe in looking like this!" He thought for a moment. "Lumiére, take the boys in through the servants' entrance and tell Marguerite to get Christophe bathed and dressed again as quickly as possible. Then have her bring him downstairs to greet our guests."

"Oui, your majesty," Lumiére said, and hurried off with the boys.

Vincent and Rosemary entered the drawing room, where Prince Adam was talking to the Russian Czar and Czarina. At 16, he had an air of maturity and seriousness far beyond his years. His hair was the same shade of red as his mother's. Right now he was saying politely, "My humblest apologies for the delay, your highnesses. My parents were unavoidably detained, but they will be here momentarily."

"And here we are," Vincent said grandly, entering the room. He bowed to the visitors. _"D_**_o_**_bryj d_**_e_**_n, _your majesties._" _

_"Dobr_**_o_**_ pozh_**_a_**_lovat'!"_ Rosemary added with a curtsey.

The czar bowed in turn. "Thank you. It is a pleasure to be here. May I present my wife, Natalya, and my daughter, Oksana." He gestured at a little blonde girl, age six, dressed in ruffles and bows, who curtseyed prettily.

Vincent bowed to the little girl as well. "Welcome, czarevna! I have a boy just a little older than you. He has a lot of toys you can play with!" She smiled.

Vincent turned back to the czar. "Now, shall we have some tea?" They sat down to tea and small talk, leading into the more important affairs of state.

O o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

When Christophe was sent to his room to get out of his wet clothes, the first thing he did was stow the hapless bullfrog in his wooden toy chest. The lid didn't close tight, so there was a thin crack to let air in. "Sorry about that! I'll get you a better home later!" Christophe whispered, and went to take his bath.

Soon, scrubbed clean, with his unruly hair neatly combed and tied back, wearing another dress suit, he was brought downstairs and presented to the guests. "Ah, here's our Christophe," Rosemary said with a smile, rising and coming to the doorway where he stood. "Come meet our guests." As she ushered him forward, she bent and whispered in his ear, "Now remember: be a gentleman."

Christophe mentally rolled his eyes. That was all he ever heard: _Be a gentleman. _A gentle man…who on earth wanted to be _gentle?_ He wanted to be tough and strong and brave!

But he stepped forward obediently and bowed in courtly fashion to the guests, as he had been taught to do. "Greetings, your majesties. It is truly an honor to make your acquaintance," he recited. _What a stupid long thing to say! What's wrong with just "hi"? _he thought.

They soon went into the dining room for dinner. His mother kept discreetly reminding him to sit up straight and not slouch. He wished he could be in the kitchen with René instead. But the food was good, except for the strange Russian stuff they'd added just for tonight's dinner.

Afterwards, they all retired to the drawing room, and Christophe had to sit quietly while the adults talked politics. As he'd expected, it was unbearably dull. He glanced at his older brother, talking with such interest about foreign affairs, and rolled his eyes. You'd _think_ having a brother would be fun, someone to play with, but Adam was so old and so serious, he was just like a grown-up! Christophe wished René were his brother instead.

He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. It was awful to have to sit quietly for so long. He felt as though time had stopped. That little girl they'd brought with them didn't seem to mind, though. She just sat there calmly looking at everything, her hands primly folded in her lap, not saying a word. But Christophe kept fidgeting. Would these people _ever _go home?

His father looked at him sympathetically. "Christophe, why don't you take Oksana upstairs and show her some of your toys?" he suggested.

"All right!" Christophe said, brightening.

Oksana looked questioningly at her parents. Her father nodded. "Go ahead, _dorogaya_ _moya," _he said, patting her head.

Obediently, the little girl got off her chair and followed Christophe.

They went out into the hall. As they reached the stairs, Christophe suddenly had an idea. "Do you want to see something _really _amazing?" he asked her.

Interested, she nodded.

"Wait right here! I'll be right back!"

Eagerly, he ran up the stairs and to his room. He opened the toy chest, took out the bullfrog, and wrapped it in a towel so the servants wouldn't see. Quickly he hurried back down the stairs.

"Guess what I've got in here?" he asked Oksana. "You'll never guess!"

She thought. "Jewels?" she guessed.

"Nope!"

"A toy?"

"Nope! Give up?"

She nodded.

Proudly, Christophe began to unwrap his prize. "I caught it today, all by myself! Well, my friend helped a little."

"Caught?" asked Oksana in confusion.

At that moment, Christophe revealed the bullfrog. "Look! Isn't it great?"

At the sight of the bullfrog, Oksana let out a piercing shriek and ran toward the drawing room. Startled, Christophe dropped the frog, which began hopping across the floor. "What's wrong?" Christophe asked in confusion.

The adults ran into the hall. "What's going on?" Vincent asked.

Oksana ran into her father's arms, sobbing, and began babbling in Russian.

The bullfrog croaked loudly and leaped into the air. The Czarina screamed as it flew past her face. It hopped through the doorway to the drawing room.

"My goodness! What on earth _was_ that?" Rosemary cried.

"My frog!" Christophe yelled, chasing after it. The bullfrog leaped onto the coffee table. The adults all rushed forward.

The frog jumped into a cup of tea, which splashed onto the Czarina's dress. "Oh, no! My new silk dress!" she wailed.

The frog leaped off the table and hopped under the sofa. Christophe dived under and tried to grab it, but it eluded his grasp and hopped out again. Christophe tried to get up and banged his head on the bottom of the sofa. "Ow!" Rubbing his head, he crawled out and looked around. The bullfrog was nowhere to be found.

_"Christophe!" _His father loomed over him, looking furious. "Catch that infernal thing and get it _out_ of here! Right _now!"_

"I'm _trying!" _Ah, there it was, on the end table! Christophe slowly cornered it. He grabbed for it, but it jumped off again, overturning a vase which crashed to the floor and shattered.

Christophe lunged for it. He tripped over the end table, knocking it and himself to the floor, but came up holding the bullfrog. "Got it!" he said triumphantly, beaming as he hugged it to his chest.

Amidst the mess and debris, the czar stepped forward. "I demand a full apology!" he roared, his face red. "I have never been so insulted in all my life! Is this how the people of France treat honored guests?"

Rosemary tried to defuse the situation. "Your majesty, please be assured, this is all a misunderstanding—"

Vincent bent over to hiss in Christophe's ear. "Get that thing upstairs, and stay in your room until I send for you!"

"Yes, sir," Christophe said, and went upstairs in disgrace.

O o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o oo o o o

A while later, his father came into his room. Christophe was lying on the bed, looking glumly up at the ceiling. His father sat down on the bed and said, "Hello, mon brave," his pet name for his son.

"Hi," Christophe said, relieved that his father didn't seem as angry now.

"So…where's the frog?" Vincent asked.

Christophe nodded at the toy chest. Vincent went over to it, opened it and peered in. "He's a big one, isn't he?"

"He sure is," Christophe said.

Vincent smiled reminiscently. "I used to catch frogs in the pond when I was young too."

"You did?" Christophe said, surprised.

"Of course. Did you think I was never a boy?" Vincent said with a chuckle. Then he added with mock sternness, "But I didn't throw them at my parents' guests."

"I didn't throw it at her. I just wanted to _show _it to her. I thought she'd like it," Christophe explained. "If someone showed _me _a frog they caught, _I'd_ be impressed!"

Vincent laughed. "I know. Girls are a little different, though."

"Girls are dumb," Christophe said grumpily.

Vincent tousled his hair. "You won't think so in another 10 years or so," he said, smiling.

Christophe looked up at him. "I'm sorry, Father. I didn't mean to do anything wrong."

"I know," Vincent reassured him.

"Are those people still mad?"

"No, fortunately, your mother and I were able to calm them down, and I think the Czar was able to see the lighter side of it," Vincent said. "But you should come down now and apologize to them, especially that little girl."

"All right," Christophe said, getting off the bed. His father put his arm around his shoulder, and they headed downstairs.

"Here's our little culprit," Vincent said lightheartedly as they entered the drawing room.

Christophe saw Oksana sitting on her mother's lap. "I'm sorry I scared you. I didn't mean to."

The czar, standing nearby, smiled. "Yes, your mother explained to us that you collect wildlife, and that it is in fact the highest honor to be shown one of your acquisitions," he said, looking amused.

"Yes!" Christophe said, glad he understood. "I thought she'd _like _to see it!"

The czar chuckled. "A word of advice, young man. When trying to impress a female, flowers and candy will go a lot further than frogs." He winked.

The adults all laughed, which Christophe didn't like because he felt like they were making fun of him. Adults always thought they knew everything. But at least he wasn't getting punished, so that was good.

"Now, why don't we have some dessert?" Rosemary suggested, and the visit ended on a positive note.

O o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

It was evening and the guests had departed. René was washing dishes in the kitchen when Christophe slipped through the door. "René, come here for a minute. I have something for you."

"I have to finish this," René protested, gesturing at the dishes.

"It'll just take a minute," Christophe promised.

René came over to his friend. "What is it? It better not take too long," he warned. "I'm already in trouble from before."

"I know. I'm sorry," Christophe said. "That's why I'm giving you this. To make up for before." He held out a large wooden toy soldier.

"Really?" René's eyes lit up. "You're _giving_ me that?" Then his face fell. "I can't take it. It's _yours. _The royal toymaker would probably be mad if you gave it to a servant."

"So what? Like you just said, it's _mine_. That means I can do whatever I want with it!" Christophe said. "Anyway, I've got lots of toys." Seeing René wavering, he urged, "Come on, take it. I feel bad that I got you in trouble."

"Well…" René smiled. "Okay. Thanks!"

"Sure." Christophe grinned, glad that his friend wasn't mad about their earlier mishap.

"Did you get in trouble with those Russian people?" René asked.

Christophe nodded. "But it's all right now. My parents talked to them."

"It must have been kind of funny, seeing that frog jumping all over the place!" René said.

Christophe grinned. "It sure made the day less boring!" They both laughed.

"Well, I should get back to work," René said.

"Can I help?" Christophe offered.

René shook his head. "Nah, I don't think they'd like that. A prince isn't supposed to wash _dishes!_ You go do something royal."

Christophe made a face. "All right."

"Thanks for the soldier!" René added, turning back to the dishes.

"You're welcome!" Christophe smiled as he went back to his room.

O o o o o o oo o o oo o o o o o o oo o o o ooo o o o o oo o o o o oo

Later that night, as his mother tucked him into bed, Christophe said to her, "I'm sorry about the frog and everything."

"I know, darling," she said gently, smoothing back his hair. "But what you must remember, Christophe, is that we are royals. That means that we represent all of France: everything we do and say reflects on our country, and can have far-reaching consequences. It's an important responsibility, and not to be taken lightly. So we owe it to our subjects to behave with dignity and decorum."

"I _hate_ behaving," Christophe grumbled.

Rosemary smiled sympathetically. "I know, it's hard sometimes! You're a little boy, and you're full of energy, and you just want to have fun and play. And that's fine, when we're here alone. But when we're out in public, or meeting important guests, we need to be on our best behavior and make a good impression. We must always be aware of how our actions will look to others. Our nation depends on us. Can you try to remember that?"

He nodded, awed by the seriousness of her words. "I'll try."

"Thank you." She kissed his forehead. "Sweet dreams, my darling."

"'Night, Mother," he answered.

"Good night, mon brave," Vincent added from the doorway.

The royal couple retired to the parlor for a cognac before bed.

"Well, _that _visit was almost a disaster," Rosemary said, sipping her drink. "For a moment there, I was afraid the Czar would declare war on France over this!"

Vincent smiled. "Well, fortunately it didn't go _that _far."

Rosemary sighed. "It very well could have, though. I just wish Christophe would gain a sense of duty, and understand how important his role is as a member of the royal family! I try so hard. Just the other day, I took him with me when I did my charity work. I wanted him to understand the enormous responsibility that we have to help all our subjects and improve their lives."

Vincent was interested. "How did he react?"

"Well, at one point, a mother with two children came up to the carriage to ask for alms. I gave them money, of course. The children were dirty and dressed in rags, and I could see Christophe watching them. I could see them making an impression on him. But when our carriage pulled away, do you know what he said to me? 'Those children are so _lucky!_ They get to wear ripped clothes and get as dirty as they want! They don't have to wear all this fancy ruffled starched stuff and sit still and keep their clothes clean!' Truly, I think he would have jumped out of the carriage and gone to splash in the mud with them if I'd let him."

Vincent had to laugh. "Not quite what you had in mind, eh?" He shrugged and took a sip of his drink. "Ah, well, at least Adam takes it all seriously. And he's the one who's actually in line to be king, after all."

"That's true," Rosemary said, putting down her glass. "But I want Christophe to grow into a fine upstanding gentleman too, a credit to the family. I'll be heartbroken if he ends up a wastrel who fritters away his life in gambling or drinking or womanizing, never doing anything worthwhile…"

"Now, now, don't overreact!" Vincent said, laughing. "He's only nine years old! It's a bit early to be labeling him a future rake and spendthrift, isn't it?"

She smiled, embarrassed. "You're right. But it's a mother's job to worry."

Vincent patted her hand. "I'm sure Christophe will be fine. He's a good lad, and he has a kind heart. To tell you the truth, he's much better than I was at his age."

Rosemary looked at him in surprise. "Really?"

Vincent nodded. "I didn't get into the kinds of mischief he does, but in many ways I was worse. I was very selfish, only thinking of my own pleasure, and I had quite a bad temper too. I was famous for my tantrums, in fact!"

_"You?" _Rosemary was astonished. "I don't believe it."

"Oh, believe me, it's true," Vincent assured her.

"So what happened? You simply grew out of it?" Rosemary asked curiously.

"Not exactly," Vincent said. "When I was about Christophe's age, my parents took ill with typhoid." His eyes took on a faraway look as he recalled those dark days. "They were kept quarantined, with only the royal physician allowed in their room, and they weren't expected to survive. I was terrified. I loved my parents dearly – they were the center of my whole world. They comforted me when I was upset, told me they would always be there for me. But now, suddenly, it looked like I was going to lose them forever. I would be left alone."

Rosemary took his hand in hers comfortingly. "You poor child. That must have been so frightening."

Vincent nodded. "It was. Once I overheard the servants talking. My uncle in Versailles had been notified of the situation. I was next in line for the throne, of course, but given that I was but a child, my uncle had been asked if he would temporarily take over running the country in the event of my parents' death, until I came of age, and if he would consent to be my legal guardian. He wrote back to say that while he would be more than happy to rule the country, he was 'not equipped' to raise a young child. He proposed that if the king and queen passed on, he would rule the country from Versailles, while I remained here in the care of the servants."

Rosemary frowned. "Not exactly a loving uncle then?"

"Not in the least," Vincent agreed. "I felt so cold inside when I heard that. It suddenly struck me that if my parents died, I would be truly _alone_ in the world, without any family who cared for me. I suddenly understood how sheltered I had been, how much I'd taken my parents and my happy life for granted. And in the way of children, I blamed myself for their illness. I thought it was all my fault – that I was being punished for misbehaving."

Rosemary hugged him. "I never knew all this. What a terrible burden for a little boy."

"So, I prayed as hard as I could," Vincent went on. "I swore that if my parents recovered, I would do better. I would listen to my father and learn everything I had to learn and do everything I was supposed to. And then…they _did _recover. It was like a miracle.

"My parents were astonished at the change in me – I was behaving like a perfect little prince. Then one day, I got angry about something, and shouted and slammed a door – and was immediately wracked with guilt and terrified that I had gone back on my word, and that my parents would be taken from me. My father saw how anxious I was. He sat me down and got the whole story out of me."

Rosemary smiled. "Your father was a wonderful man," she said reminiscently. "I loved him, and your mother too. They were so welcoming to me when I married you."

"They loved you too," Vincent said, smiling. "They were thrilled that I'd chosen to marry someone they actually approved of! At any rate, my father told me that while he was pleased that I was taking things more seriously and behaving better, God doesn't expect absolute perfection of anyone, and he certainly wasn't going to suddenly take my parents' life away just because I slammed a door or didn't finish my brussel sprouts! So, that put things in perspective and made me feel better, and I was able to relax. But still…the experience changed me. It made me look outside myself, and realize there were more important things in life than whether I was allowed to stay up past my bedtime, or if I got the toy I wanted. It made me grateful for what I had, and I wanted to be worthy of it all. I wanted to make my parents proud, and become the best ruler for the country that I could be."

"Well, I'm glad something good came out of it," Rosemary said. "But I'm sorry you had to go through such a frightening experience. It must have been such a relief to you when your parents recovered."

Vincent nodded. "And to the servants too, I'm sure. Can you imagine what an impossible position they would have been in if my parents _had_ died? How could they be expected to raise a child who was their prince – their _ruler? _A child with the power to order them dismissed or imprisoned if they displeased him?" Vincent shook his head ruefully. "I'm certain I would have become the most insufferable spoiled brat in the world, a real tyrant!"

Rosemary started laughing. Vincent looked at her quizzically. "What's funny?"

"Just the idea of you as a spoiled tyrant. I can't imagine that at all." She kissed him. "You're such a good, kind, generous person, I'm sure you would have turned out to be a wonderful ruler no matter _how _you were raised."

"Well, thank you for the vote of confidence," Vincent said with a grin. "But anyway, the point I was making is that I'm sure our Christophe will grow up to be a fine man too."

Rosemary reflected on this. "But apparently, to make that happen, you and I must first be put in mortal peril," she pointed out teasingly. "What do you say, my love? Shall we throw ourselves off the highest tower, in the interests of improving our son's moral character?"

Vincent laughed. "Well, let's hope it doesn't come to _that!" _He yawned and stretched. "And I think there's been more than enough excitement here for one day. Personally, I'm about ready to turn in."

"That sounds like a splendid idea," Rosemary agreed, standing up. Her husband put his arm around her, and they retired to the bedroom.


	12. May the Best Man Win

The weeks passed, and soon it was November and time for the annual fair in Clermont-Ferrand, the large town several miles from Molyneaux. The fair was one of the most exciting and anticipated events of the year; people came from all the surrounding villages to participate.

That morning, Gaston, Belle and the rest of their family were up early and out the door, wanting to make the most of the day. Gaston and Belle rode their own horses, as did the boys. Lili sat on Belle's horse in front of her mother. Mimi expected to ride with her father as she had the year before, but to her delight, Gaston grinned and said, "You'd better hurry and saddle up Tempête, or we'll be late!"

"Really?" Mimi squealed excitedly. "I can ride by myself, all the way to the fair?"

Belle looked concerned. "Do you think she can handle it?" she asked Gaston. "It's a long way – won't she get tired?"

"I won't get tired!" Mimi insisted. "I can do it!"

Belle smiled. "All right, then." Mimi beamed and ran to get her horse ready.

Soon they were on their way, but they stopped to pick up Maurice at his house. He was already out in the yard, hitching Phillippe to the wagon, and waved at their approach.

"Grandpa, what invention are you going to show at the fair?" Alain asked eagerly. Now that Maurice was a famous inventor, he no longer needed to compete in the inventing contest. Instead, the town council of Clermont-Ferrand invited him to do a demonstration at the fair every year, unveiling his latest creation. Everyone always looked forward eagerly to seeing what new and amazing device he had come up with.

Maurice winked. "Wait and see. It's a surprise!" he said with a twinkle in his eye.

They set off, and reached the fair by mid-morning. After seeing to the horses and wagon, the family strolled through the fair, enjoying all the sights, sampling the delicious food for sale, and greeting friends they knew from Molyneaux.

They passed a cart selling beads, cheap jewelry and other trinkets. Lili's eyes grew wide. "Oh! Look at all the pretty things!" she cried, running forward to look closer. "Can I have one? Please?"

Gaston smiled indulgently. "Of course! A pretty princess needs pretty jewelry! Which one do you want?"

Lili looked at all the bracelets, rings and necklaces on display, trying to decide which one she liked best. "Oh, they're all so beautiful..." She pawed through the sparkly, shiny objects. There was a necklace with multi-colored glass beads, a matching bracelet, a ring with red glass that looked to her like a ruby..."I love this rainbow necklace, and this rainbow bracelet, and this ruby ring!" she said. "Aren't they pretty?"

"They certainly are!" Belle agreed. "But you need to pick just one."

Lili spent a long time looking at the three items, holding them up to the light one by one to watch them sparkle. "Oh, I just can't decide!" she wailed.

Gaston chuckled. "Well, I guess I'll have to buy all three, then."

Lili's eyes lit up. "Really? Oh, thank you!" She ran and hugged him. "You're the bestest papa in the whole wide _world!"_

"I know," Gaston said, grinning. He patted her head and handed her the money. "Here, you can be a big girl and give the man the money yourself! Just tell him which ones you want."

"Okay!" Lili ran back to the cart.

Belle shook her head, exasperated but amused. "You really shouldn't spoil her like that."

"Oh, we only come to the fair once a year. Let her have fun." Gaston watched fondly as Lili put on the jewelry and looked delightedly at her reflection in the mirror on the cart. "Besides, didn't you hear?" He puffed out his chest and winked. "I'm 'the bestest papa in the whole wide world!'"

Belle laughed affectionately. "She's really got you wrapped around her finger," she teased.

"Well, that's what papas are for," Gaston said with a grin.

Lili ran back to them, showing off her new finery. "How do I look?"

"Beautiful," Gaston told her. "Just like a real princess!" They continued on their way, stopping along the way to watch a puppet show, a juggler, and several musicians.

Then it was time for Maurice's demonstration. A crowd gathered around to watch. Maurice stood up on a stage with a large object covered with a sheet. "Ladies and gentlemen, what I have to show you today is nothing short of revolutionary! This device will save hours of labor!"

He pulled off the sheet to reveal what looked like a huge washtub, with strange rods and rollers stuck through it at odd angles. The crowd whispered and murmured, puzzled as to what this could be.

"You know how much time and effort goes into washing clothes," Maurice went on. "All the soaping and scrubbing and wringing! Well, this astounding device will wash the clothes FOR you!" He filled the washtub with water, then added soap. Then he held up a white cloth and rubbed some mud on it as the onlookers watched with interest. "There!" Maurice said. "Now, observe!" He rubbed a bit of soap on the stain, then put the cloth into the tub and pressed a button. Immediately the machine whirred to life. The rods churned the soapy water and cloth around for a while; then the rollers grabbed the cloth and it was pulled through the rollers, which squeezed out the excess water.

Maurice removed the cloth and proudly held it up for all to see. "There! All clean!" The crowd burst into applause.

When the demonstration ended, it was hard for Belle and the family to get to Maurice, because so many people were surging around him, asking where to get the wondrous machine. "Well, this is only a prototype," he explained. "I still have to work out some of the kinks, and then patent it and get someone to mass-produce it. But hopefully by next year they'll be available."

Finally the crowd dispersed. "Papa, I'm so proud of you!" Belle said, hugging him. "I think this will be your most successful invention yet!"

"You're so smart, Grandpa!" Georges said admiringly.

"Yeah!" agreed Mimi fervently. She hadn't forgotten her one horrible, backbreaking day of trying to wash the clothes by hand. If only she'd had this machine then!

Maurice laughed, but he was pleased. "Just takes a bit of thought and tinkering," he said modestly.

Alain was looking over the machine, fascinated. "Can you show me how it works, Grandpa?"

"Of course!" Maurice said. "In fact, do you want to come by tomorrow and help me fine-tune it? I could really use your help."

"That'd be great!" Alain said enthusiastically.

Maurice packed his machine back into his wagon, and they continued enjoying the fair.

Soon it was time for the contests of strength and skill. Gaston looked wistful as they watched men competing to lift the heaviest weights. Belle took his hand. "Do you miss it?" she asked understandingly.

Gaston nodded and gestured at the men. "Those weights are _nothing," _he scoffed. "I would have beat them all easily!"

"I know...and _they_ know, too. That's why they had to ask you to stop!" Belle reminded him. Ever since he was 16 years old, Gaston had won every contest at the fair, year after year. People came from miles around to watch and admire him. Of course, the men from Molyneaux were used to Gaston beating them – he'd been doing it since they were children, and they took it for granted. But as the years passed, the men from Clermont-Ferrand and the other surrounding villages began to resent Gaston's annual victories. They didn't think it was fair for one man to hog _all_ the glory, year after year – they wanted _their_ chance to show off too.

They expressed their feelings to the mayor of Clermont-Ferrand, who agreed that they had a valid point. So, after the 15th year in a row of Gaston winning all the contests, the mayor took a trip to Molyneaux to talk to Gaston personally. The mayor pointed out that everyone _knew_ Gaston was the best – he'd proven it time and time again, to the point that there was really no need to prove it anymore. It was time to give the other men a turn to shine, he said, and asked Gaston to graciously step down and not compete anymore.

To sweeten the suggestion, the mayor promised that at the next fair, they would hold a special "retirement ceremony" honoring Gaston and commemorating his unparalleled success, and would even present him with a grand trophy cup inscribed with the words "Undefeated Champion." Gaston took the bait and agreed to step down. At the next fair, he thoroughly enjoyed the adulation he got at the ceremony, basking in the attention, and he proudly displayed the trophy cup on the mantle at the tavern.

That had been five years ago. Since then, however, he always felt a pang each year at the fair, watching from the sidelines as the other men competed.

Now Belle went on encouragingly, "But the important thing is, everyone _knows _you're the best. In fact, you're a _legend!_ You're so much better than the rest that there isn't even a point to you competing with them – you're too far above them!"

"That's true," Gaston said, pleased. "And in a few years, Alain will be 16, and then _he _can start competing!" He loved the idea of his son taking his place, carrying on his tradition as winner.

A man standing nearby overheard. "Oh, if you want your son to compete, you don't have to wait that long," he told Gaston. "They added some new contests this year for the younger boys."

"They did?" Gaston perked up. "What kind of contests?"

"Well, I heard there's a shooting contest in the west meadow in about half an hour," the man said. "I think it's for boys aged 12 to 15."

"That's perfect!" Gaston turned to Alain. "What do you say, son? Ready to make your old man proud?"

"Sure, I'll give it a try," Alain said agreeably. They went to the west meadow, and sure enough, there was a large group of boys gathered around a table where a man was taking down the names of the contestants. Alain went over to add his name to the list.

Gaston turned to Georges. "How about you, Georges? Should we see if there's a contest for your age too?"

"Oh...I don't think I'm ready," Georges said anxiously. He was decent at shooting, but not _great_ at it. Besides, he didn't like performing in front of a lot of people and being the center of attention – he was much more comfortable on the sidelines.

Belle pointed out, "You could just enter for the fun of it. It doesn't matter if you win or not."

Georges shook his head. "I'd rather practice some more first and get better at it. Maybe next year I'll do it."

"All right. That's a good idea," Gaston said approvingly. He thought Georges was being sensible – to his mind, there was no point entering a contest unless you were going to _win._

The contest began. There were 30 boys entered: some from Clermont-Ferrand, others from Molyneaux and the other small nearby villages: Châtelguyon, Riom and Royat. Each boy shot at a target. Those who missed stepped aside, while those who hit it went on to the next round. In the first round, 15 boys were eliminated, but Alain was one of the ones to hit the target.

Then the target was moved back to a farther distance, and it was time for round two, with 15 boys remaining. Again, Alain hit the target, but 10 more boys missed and were eliminated.

That left only five, including Alain. The crowd's excitement grew as each of the five took their shots. The target was much farther now, and the skill required to hit it was impressive. Alain took his turn and hit the target. The crowd cheered, and Gaston grinned proudly. "That's my boy!" he said to Belle.

Two boys missed the shot, which left only three remaining: Alain, a boy named Edouard from Châtelguyon, and a boy named Louis from Riom. The target was moved back even farther, and the crowd buzzed with anticipation.

Edouard went first. He fired, and hit the target to thunderous applause.

Next was Louis. He, too, hit the target and was applauded.

Then Alain stepped forward. Watching from the audience, Gaston leaned forward eagerly in anticipation, while Belle held her breath. Maurice was on the edge of his seat with suspense. Georges sat totally still, all his attention focused on his brother, while Mimi and Lili were practically bouncing up and down with excitement.

Alain raised his rifle, aimed carefully, and pulled the trigger...but his shot missed. He shrugged good-naturedly and went to stand with the other boys who had been disqualified.

Gaston's face fell in disappointment. He had so been looking forward to his son winning the contest, carrying on the Avenant tradition of unbroken success – he could almost taste the victory. Belle put her hand on his arm, knowing full well what he was thinking. "Don't make him feel bad about it!" she warned. "He did very well."

"I know," Gaston said with a sigh, and sat back unenthusiastically to watch the rest of the contest. The target was moved back even farther, to a seemingly impossible distance. This time Louis missed, but Edouard made the shot, so he was the winner, and received the trophy to massive cheers. Gaston looked away, wishing it was Alain getting the accolades.

Alain ran back to the family. "Wasn't that _great?"_ he said, beaming. "That was such an exciting contest!"

"It really was! And you did so well!" Belle said.

Gaston nodded, trying to cover his disappointment. "Don't feel about about not winning, son. If you keep practicing, I'm sure you'll win next year!" he said encouragingly.

"Oh, I don't feel bad, Pa," Alain said cheerfully. "That was the best shooting I've ever done in my life! I'm glad I was able to do my best. There were so many boys in the contest, and they were _so_ good – I'm thrilled to have gotten as far as I did. And did you _see_ that last shot Edouard made to win the contest?" He let out a whistle of admiration. "He's incredible! He definitely deserved to win."

He spied Edouard walking past and went over to him. "Congratulations! That was an _amazing _shot you made!"

"Thanks!" Edouard said, pleased. "You weren't so shabby yourself."

"It was a great contest," Alain said. "Lots of talented guys."

Edouard nodded. "Yeah, it's fun when everyone is so good and it's a real challenge. I'll see you next year for a rematch!" he added with a grin.

"Looking forward to it!" Alain replied with a wave, and went to congratulate Louis and chat with some of the other boys.

Gaston just stared open-mouthed, flabbergasted at Alain's attitude. If _he _had lost a contest, he'd have been in a foul temper, furious and upset. But Alain didn't seem to mind at all.

Belle was smiling as she watched Alain with the other boys. "You know what?" she said. "Not only is our son a good marksman, he's also a good sport."

Gaston noticed that no one was taunting Alain for coming in at less than No. 1. In fact, people were congratulating him on how well he'd done, and everyone seemed to like him and admire him. Gaston shrugged, bemused. "Yes, he is." But he couldn't resist adding, "I still hope he wins next year!"

Belle laughed and took his arm. "You never know. Come on, let's go see some more of the fair."

O oo oooo ooooooooo oooooooo oooooo ooooooo oooo oo ooo ooo ooo ooo oo o ooo ooo

As they moved on, Mimi noticed a group of boys around her age milling about excitedly, including some she knew from Molyneaux – Eriq, Michel, Luc, and a few boys a year or two older. She went over to them. "What's going on?"

"They're having an archery contest for boys age 9 to 11!" Eriq said excitedly.

"Really?" Mimi asked eagerly. She would love to show off what she could do!

"I'm gonna win," Luc said confidently. "I'm really good at archery!"

"Well, I bet I'm better than you!" Mimi bragged. She ran back to her parents. "Papa! Guess what? They have an archery contest for my age now!"

Gaston's eyes lit up. "Really? Well, we'd better get you signed up right away!" He was thrilled. Now _this _was a contest in which he _knew _his child would come in No. 1!

"I can't wait to see you compete!" Belle added.

Mimi ran ahead to the judges' table, where the signup was being held, followed by Gaston, Belle, Maurice, Lili and the boys. Gaston swaggered up to the table. "My little girl's going to mop the floor with these boys!" he bragged. "She's a chip off the old block. Sign her up. Her name's Mimi."

The judge laughed, taking it as a joke. "Your family is certainly well-known for its skill, Monsieur Avenant, but I think that's taking things a bit _too_ far!" he said in amusement. "Now, let's be serious. I assume this young man wants to compete?" He gestured to Georges.

"No, not this time. Maybe next year," Gaston said. He put his hands on Mimi's shoulders and pushed her forward. "Mimi's the champion archer in the family. She's the one for this contest."

The judge began to look a little impatient. "All right, Monsieur Avenant, you had your little joke. But I'm a busy man. If your son's not competing, then stand aside and let me sign up some other contestants."

"I'm _serious,"_ Gaston said, starting to get annoyed. "Mimi's great at archery, and I'm signing her up for the contest. She'll win for sure."

The judge stared at him. "She's a _girl."_

"I know she's a girl!" Gaston said impatiently. "So what?"

"This contest is for _boys," _the judge said with exaggerated patience.

"Now look here, Monsieur—"

"Désuet," the judge supplied. "I'm on the town council."

"Monsieur Désuet," Gaston said in the commanding voice that always got him what he wanted. "You are _going _to sign my daughter up for this contest."

But the judge was unmoved. "This contest is for boys," he repeated firmly. "Now, if you really want your daughter in a contest, there are many here that girls _can_ compete in: the contests for best pastry, best quilt, best embroidery, best jam—"

"Best _jam?" _Mimi interrupted, making a face. "Who cares about _jam? _That's stupid!_"_

"Hush, young lady!" the judge said sternly. "You should learn to mind your manners."

Belle tried to intervene. "Sir, Mimi isn't interested in jam or pastry or any of those things. Her talent is archery, and I don't see why she can't compete in it and show what she can do."

The judge glanced at Belle in surprise. "Are you the girl's mother? I should think you'd be putting a stop to this foolishness, not _encouraging_ it! Take my advice: Get her to forget all this nonsense and focus on her cooking and housework, or she'll never get a husband."

Belle looked irritated. While she tried to argue with him, Mimi tugged on Gaston's hand. "Papa, you'll make them put me in the contest, won't you? You can do _anything!"_

"Sure, wildcat," Gaston assured her. His little girl was counting on him, and he wasn't going to let her down. He marched right up to the judge, towering over him, and glared at him. "Enough is enough! Mimi is going to be in that contest, and that's final. Write her name down _now!"_

The judge looked at Gaston disdainfully. "Do you think that just because you've won a lot of contests here in the past, you have the power to bend all the rules to suit yourself? If that's the case, Monsieur Avenant, you are sadly mistaken. You don't run this town, and you _don't_ run this fair!" He folded his arms condescendingly.

Gaston was overcome with frustration. In Molyneaux, his word was practically law -- he always got what he wanted. All the men there had grown up with him and deferred to him automatically, ever since they were children and he beat up anyone who disagreed with him. But Clermont-Ferrand was different: Gaston just showed up here once a year for the fair, and occasionally did some shopping in the town. People recognized him from winning the annual contests in the past, but he was just a visitor, an outsider. He didn't command the kind of power and respect that came from _living _in a town and interacting with people on a daily basis.

The mayor of Clermont-Ferrand came over, hearing the commotion. "What's going on here?"

The judge gestured at Gaston in annoyance. _"You_ try to talk some sense into him!"

"Ah, Gaston, hello," the mayor said jovially. "Glad to see you here! Now, what seems to be the trouble?"

"The trouble is that if someone's good at archery, they should be allowed to compete!" Gaston said. "But this idiot doesn't see it that way!"

The mayor laughed. "Well, you've certainly proven time and time again that you're the best at archery! But I think you're a little old for _this _contest, don't you agree?"

"Not _me!"_ Gaston said in exasperation. "My daughter, Mimi. I want her to compete, but he says she can't."

The mayor's eyes widened. "Your _daughter?_ Ah...I see." He paused, trying to be diplomatic. "Well, I'm very sorry, Gaston, but this contest is only for boys."

"Why?" Mimi burst out. "I'm just as good as them!"

The mayor smiled and patted her on the head. "My, what a pretty little girl. Now, listen, dear - you don't want to be silly and act like a _boy, _do you? People will think you are one!" He laughed and winked at her. Mimi scowled.

The mayor turned back to Gaston. "Be reasonable, Gaston. Having a girl compete with the boys would look ridiculous. It would look like we're not treating the contest seriously! We might as well have dogs and pigs competing!"

Gaston glared at him. "But she's _good _at it! She'd win!"

"Even if that were true – which, no offense, I highly doubt – that would be even _worse!"_ the mayor said. "How would the boys feel if they were beaten by a mere _girl? _It would be completely humiliating for them!" The mayor shook his head. "I'm very sorry, but it would be totally inappropriate. And it would set a bad example for the children. After all, it's our job to train them in the skills they'll need as adults. That's why we decided to add some contests for the youngsters this year – to motivate the boys to practice their archery and shooting, and the girls to work hard at their sewing and baking. We're helping them grow up to become solid, productive citizens. We certainly don't want to get them mixed up by encouraging girls to act like boys or boys to act like girls! I mean, what's next? Boys entering the sewing contest?" He laughed at the very idea.

Gaston opened his mouth to argue further, but the mayor held up his hand and spoke firmly. "Gaston, look. We all admire you – your performance at all the contests over the years is legendary. But these are the rules, and we're not changing them for you or for anyone else. That's final. I must remind you that I'm the mayor here -- not you. Now, with all due respect, please stand aside and let this matter drop, or I'm afraid I'll have to ask you and your family to leave, and I'd truly hate to do that."

Gaston stood there, fuming. It was clear that nothing he could say was going to change this oaf's mind...and the guy was the _mayor,_ the final authority here!

"Papa?" Mimi looked up at him trustingly, confident that he would fix the problem. It killed Gaston to see the look on her face. He was her papa, her hero – he was supposed to be able to make everything right for her! That was his job! He _hated _to let her down, to have her see that he wasn't infallible after all.

But even with all his strength, all his skills, all his prowess...there was nothing he could do here. He'd failed his little girl.

"Come on," he said grimly to her and the rest of the family. "We're leaving."

Mimi's face fell. "Leaving? You mean I can't be in the contest? But Papa--"

Gaston's expression was as stormy as a thundercloud. Belle pulled Mimi aside and knelt down to face her. "Honey, your papa tried his very hardest, but those people just wouldn't _listen_ to him," she said gently. "He feels very bad about it. You know how much he loves you, and if there was _any _way he could get you in the contest, he would."She kissed Mimi's forehead. "I know how disappointed you are. We all are. Those people are being totally unreasonable! But there's nothing we can do about it. I'm sorry."

"It's a real shame," Maurice added sadly. "I'll tell you what: when we get home I'll make a toy for you – something special. How about that?"

Mimi looked at the boys getting ready for the contest. They all looked so eager and excited. "I want to stay. I want to watch the contest."

Gaston was surprised. "Are you sure?"

Mimi nodded. She went over to the mayor. "I can at least _watch, _can't I?"

"Of course!" the mayor said benevolently. He took her hand and led her forward. "Here, little lady: you can sit right up front, where you have the best view!"

Luc, smirking, added, "Yeah, you can have a great view of _me_ winning!" He had watched the whole conflict with relish, enjoying seeing Mimi put in her place.

Belle and Gaston looked at each other, not certain if it was a good idea to stay. Wouldn't it make Mimi feel worse? But she seemed adamant.

The contest began. Mimi watched closely as each boy stepped up, lifted the bow, notched an arrow, and aimed at the target. For this beginners' contest, each contestant had three chances to hit the bullseye. Since these were young boys who hadn't been learning very long, none got even one bullseye, but the audience clapped appreciatively for each attempt.

Mimi got more and more frustrated as the contest went on. All the boys were getting applause, but she was so much better than _any _of them! If only she could get up there and take a turn! They'd all be amazed at how great she was...they'd clap and cheer for her...

Finally it was time for the last contestant: Luc. With his usual smirk, he picked up the bow confidently. Mimi could see his mother, Mme. Grognon, watching proudly from the audience, with her husband and Paige on either side of her.

Mimi's eyes went back to Luc. He notched the arrow and made the shot. Not a bullseye, but at least he hit the target, which was more than some of them had done. The crowd applauded politely. The second arrow got closer to the bullseye, and the applause grew. His third arrow hit the bullseye cleanly – the only bullseye in the whole contest - and the audience erupted in cheers. Luc grinned and waved at the crowd, then went back to his seat.

The mayor stood up. "Well, it seems we have a winner..."

Mimi couldn't take it any more. She just _couldn't_ sit still and let them announce that idiot the winner, without even giving her a chance! "Wait!" she cried impulsively. All eyes turned to her. Without stopping to think, she ran up to the stage and grabbed the bow from the table where Luc had left it. _"I'm_ going to go!"

Stunned, the mayor and the judge looked at each other, then started for the stage to stop her. "Now see here, young lady—" the judge said.

In an instant, Gaston was standing between them and Mimi, as massive and immovable as a brick wall. _"Stay away from her!" _he snarled. The mayor and judge faltered, taking a step back.

"Now, be reasonable—" the mayor began.

Gaston ignored him and spoke to Mimi. "Go ahead, Mimi. Georges, you pull the arrows out for her." Georges ran to the target.

Mimi notched an arrow, aimed, and let it sail...straight to the bullseye. The crowd gasped. Georges pulled the arrow out, and Mimi calmly shot again, with the same result. She saw Luc gaping at her, open-mouthed like a frog, and smiled serenely at him. She took a final arrow, pulled it back, and released it. It flew straight to the bullseye like the others.

"There," she said with satisfaction, putting down the bow. "Three bullseyes!"

"Perfect!" Gaston said proudly. "I couldn't have done it better myself."

Luc found his voice and whined, "That's not _fair! _She's not even supposed to be _in _the contest! _I'm _supposed to get the trophy!"

"Quite right," said the judge pompously. "You do get the trophy, young man, have no fear." He turned to Gaston in outrage. "Sir, you really should learn to control your daughter! Disrupting the contest like that! Have you no sense of propriety?"

"She beat those boys fair and square!" Gaston snapped back. "She deserves the trophy, and you know it!"

"It's all right," Mimi said loudly. "I don't need any stupid trophy. I _proved_ that I'm the best, and now everyone knows it." She shot Luc a triumphant glance with those words. "We can go home now." She walked over to her father calmly, but inside her heart was soaring. _I did it! I really did it!_

"All right, if that's how you want it," Gaston said. He glared one last time at the mayor and the judge, then put his hand on his daughter's shoulder and went back to his family. The crowd was silent. All eyes were on them as they left the fair.

"Wow, Mimi," Georges said to his sister as they rode home. "I can't believe you just went right up there, after they told you not to!" He was amazed at his sister's daring – if he'd been told that what he wanted to do was against the rules, it wouldn't even have _occurred _to him to break them.

"Three bullseyes in a row – that's terrific!" Alain said.

"Thanks!" said Mimi happily.

Belle smiled at her daughter. "I'm very proud of you, Mimi. You stood up for what's right. It wasn't fair for them to keep you out of the contest just because you're a girl."

Gaston nodded, grinning. "No one says no to a daughter of mine!" he said proudly. "She's the best, and she won't stop till everyone knows it!"

Back at the fair, as soon as the family was gone, the crowd immediately began buzzing about Mimi's behavior at the contest. "I have _never _seen such an ill-bred, disobedient child in all my born days!" Mme. Grognon declared. "Flagrantly breaking the rules and ruining the whole contest! _And_ trying to steal the prize from my poor Luc!" She clutched her son to her protectively.

"Now, now," said Reverend Grognon mildly. "No reason to get so upset! It's not the end of the world. Luc still got his trophy." But Mme. Grognon continued ranting on.

Paige looked up at her mother, wondering if she dared speak. The things her mother was saying...Paige had always taken for granted that that was the way things were. But now, she just couldn't help wondering...

"Mother?" she asked tentatively. "If she really _is _the best at it...well...what I mean is...isn't the contest _supposed_ to show who's the best?"

Her mother looked shocked, and Paige cringed slightly just from her expression. "It's _wrong_ for a girl to act like a boy! And even MORE wrong for her to wilfully disobey when she's been _told_ to sit down and be quiet!" Mme. Grognon was almost purple with outrage. Then seeing Paige's anxiety, she calmed down a little and smiled. "I'm just thankful that _you _have more sense, Paige dear," she said proudly. "You're everything a girl _should_ be: quiet, modest, obedient. Not like that crazy little hellion!"

Marie, the baker's wife from Molyneaux, nodded in agreement, looking concerned. "Mimi has always been a headstrong child, it's true. I'd be horrified if a daughter of mine acted that way."

"I always thought, 'well, she's a tomboy, but she's bound to grow out of it as she gets older,'" added the fishmonger's wife. "But if Gaston and Belle are going to _encourage _her to behave like that...They're being very foolish, if you ask me. Only trouble can come of a girl being so wild!"

"Maybe they don't understand that?" suggested Bunny. "I mean, their _boys_ are both fine young men. Alain is my husband's apprentice, and he's a wonderful boy: smart, honest, hardworking." She pondered for a moment. "Belle has always been a little odd, with all that reading...maybe she just needs someone to explain to her what a girl is _supposed_ to be like? I _could _try to talk to her..."

"Well, good luck," sniffed Mme. Grognon. "I've tried to set her straight on a number of occasions, but she certainly doesn't listen to _me!"_

"It could be Gaston's doing, not Belle's," suggested Francois, a burly, red-haired man from Molyneaux. "Remember way back when, before he married Belle? He always used to say that one day he'd have a whole houseful of sons just as great as he is. Maybe he's disappointed he got some daughters, so he wants to turn _them _into boys too!" The men laughed, safe in the knowledge that Gaston wasn't around to hear them.

A rowdy group of men from Clermont-Ferrand, inebriated from an afternoon of ale, passed by, joking among themselves. Seeing the boys from the contest standing around, one of the men grinned and pointed at them. "Well, that little girl sure showed _you,_ didn't she?" he guffawed. "Beat you all like it was _nothing!"_

Another added, "Must be a pretty pathetic crop of boys this year, if they can't even shoot good enough to beat a _girl!" _

The drunk men all laughed at that. "Never would have happened in my day, that's for sure," said a third man. "Don't know what boys are coming to these days." They wandered off, looking for more entertainment.

The young boys were all upset and embarrassed. This was their first time competing at the fair, and people were _laughing _at them! Monique, Belle's sewing-circle friend, patted her son Eriq's shoulder. "Don't listen to them, Eriq – they're just drunk and don't know what they're talking about," she said reassuringly. "You did very well in the contest."

"But why did Mimi have to _do _that?" Eriq grumbled. "She made us all look bad!"

"I'm sure she didn't mean to," Monique said. "You know Mimi – she just likes to show off. She doesn't mean any harm. Come on, let's go enjoy the rest of the fair." Gradually, the onlookers dispersed and drifted away to other parts of the fair.

Back at home, the family was in a fine mood. Over dinner, they talked about the fair: how great Maurice's new invention was, what a good showing Alain had made in the shooting contest, and above all, how amazing Mimi had been, standing up for herself and proving herself an archer far beyond the skill of anyone else her age. Mimi preened, loving the attention.

In bed that night, she lay awake, thinking what a wonderful day it had turned out to be after all. _I really showed them! _she thought. _Now everyone knows I'm the best! _She couldn't _wait_ for school on Monday, positive that all the kids would congratulate her and admire her for her skill, just as everyone always did for her father. Imagining herself surrounded by a crowd of admirers, she happily fell asleep.


	13. That Girl is Strange, No Question

On Monday morning, Mimi was up bright and early. For the first time in her whole life, she was actually looking _forward _to school. She couldn't wait to hear the boys congratulate her on her great archery performance at the fair.

As she walked to school with her mother, brother and sister, she noticed people looking at her and whispering as they passed. She tried hard to overhear what they were saying, but all she could make out were the words "fair" and "contest."

Mimi beamed. "Mama, listen! They're all talking about what I did!" she said excitedly.

Belle smiled. "I'll bet they've never seen a girl shoot arrows and make three bullseyes before! That's something they'll never forget." She was proud to think that her daughter could open people's eyes and make them see what a woman was capable of.

They had been low on bread that morning, so Belle stopped at the bakery on the way to school. "Bonjour, Marie. A loaf of bread, please."

Mimi, eager for attention, piped up, "Hi, Mme. Boulanger! Did you see me at the fair?"

Marie, the baker's wife, looked uncomfortable, glancing from Mimi to Belle. "Yes, I did," was all she said. Quickly she turned to get a loaf of fresh bread out of the oven and placed it on the counter.

Belle smiled, for once just as eager as Mimi to hear the reaction to her accomplishment. "What did you think of the archery contest?"

Marie looked awkward and put on the spot. She bit her lip, torn between the merchant's need to be polite and the desire to answer honestly. "Well, Belle..." she began hesitantly. "I never would have said anything, you know that, but since you asked me..."

"Yes?" Belle prodded.

Marie straightened up. "Well..." she said slowly. "I know you and Gaston have your own ideas and your own way of doing things, and it's not my place to judge. But quite frankly, I don't think girls should be shooting arrows and trying to act like boys. It's just not right. Certain things are for boys, and other things are for girls. Not to mention that the mayor _himself_ told you plain as day that the contest was only for boys! People can't just run around doing whatever they please and breaking all the rules! And you're the town schoolteacher, Belle -- you of _all _people should be setting a good example, teaching Mimi to be obedient and respect her elders. Not encouraging her to be defiant."

Belle was taken aback. "I-I didn't think of it that way..." she admitted. For a moment, she was conflicted. Had she done the wrong thing? She remembered how angry she'd been that time when Mimi disobeyed and took her horse out riding after Belle had told her not to. She'd punished Mimi for that. Was she sending her daughter mixed signals now?

But then she remembered how pompous and condescending the judge and the mayor had been, and how strong and triumphant Mimi had looked shooting those bullseyes, proving for all to see that a girl could be just as capable as a boy. Her resolve strengthened. "Marie, you make a very good point," Belle conceded. "Believe me, I completely agree that children, and people in general, should follow the rules. I do teach my children that. But...this case is _different._ That contest was completely unfair! Mimi is just as talented at archery as those boys – it was _wrong _to keep her out just because she's a girl. I didn't know she was going to run up there, but I honestly can't be angry with her for it. She was taking a stand against injustice. Sometimes that's necessary."

Marie pursed her lips, clearly not agreeing, but also not wanting to argue with a customer. "Well, she's _your_ daughter – of course you have to do as you see fit. It's certainly not _my _place to say anything." She wrapped the loaf of bread in brown paper and handed it to Belle. "Here's your package. Have a good day." Quickly she turned and went to help another customer, relieved to have the conversation over.

Mimi was upset. She'd known that the stuffy old judge at the fair would be mad at what she did, since he was the one trying to keep her out of the contest, but she'd honestly thought the people from _her _town would be ooh-ing and aah-ing at how great she was, making all those bullseyes. Instead, people were upset about it, like she'd done something bad!

Belle was disillusioned too. She suddenly remembered the people they'd passed earlier whom they'd overheard whispering about the fair. _I'm so naive!_ she berated herself._ I actually thought they were ADMIRING what Mimi did! But they must have been criticizing her, just like Marie. _She sighed. _I really thought that when people saw how talented Mimi was, they'd finally realize that that girls can do all the things boys can, _she thought ruefully. _I guess I was too idealistic. People don't change overnight. _It was so frustrating and unfair, though!

Now that her eyes had been opened, she became aware of how the people they passed were staring at Mimi. Most hastily looked away when they saw Belle noticing; others shook their heads disapprovingly before turning away.

Then Belle saw Bambi and Bubbles standing by a fruit stall (their sister Bunny being conspicuously absent). The two blondes smirked as they saw Belle and Mimi, then whispered gleefully to each other, clearly enjoying the gossip. Belle could make out a few words: "...shameless behavior..." "it's a pity and a sin..." ...that girl is so peculiar..."

Belle closed her eyes for a moment, feeling an unpleasant sensation of deja vu. _Oh, please tell me I don't have to go through this again..._

They were at school now. Belle stopped. "Georges, would you go ring the school bell and take Lili inside? I'll be in in a minute."

"Sure," Georges said, taking Lili's hand.

Mimi looked up at Belle unhappily. "Mama, why are people so upset about what I did? I just wanted to shoot arrows like everyone else! And I did it really _good! _They should like it!"

"I know, honey. I'm sorry that people don't understand. Unfortunately, a lot of people think that girls should only do certain things, and they get upset if someone tries to break out of that mold." Belle sighed. "Believe me, Mimi, I know just how you feel. When I was young, people made fun of me for reading, and it made me feel bad. But I loved books and I wasn't going to give them up...and eventually, people got used to it. Now I'm the teacher, and _lots_ of people here read!" She smiled encouragingly. "So just stay strong, Mimi. Try not to let narrow-minded people upset you. Be true to who you are."

Mimi smiled, feeling a little better. "Okay, Mama." Then a thought crossed her mind and she perked up. "And anyway, the _boys _all like me! I always play with them, and they don't _care_ if I beat them at arm wrestling and stuff!"

"There, you see?" Belle said. "You have friends on your side. That's more than _I_ had back then!" She patted Mimi's shoulder. "Let's go inside now – it doesn't look good for the _teacher_ to be late!" Laughing, they went inside.

O o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

All that morning in school, Mimi was aware of the other kids watching her. She knew the boys must be impressed at how amazing she'd been at the contest – _they_ weren't stuffy like the grown-ups. After all, they'd all admired her the time she went into the forest on her horse. She couldn't _wait f_or recess!

Finally it was time to go outside. As the children filed out the door, Fantine and Justine came over to her. "So, Mimi, you're really famous now!" Fantine said in a syrupy-sweet voice.

"I am?" Mimi said, surprised and pleased. Fantine had never been nice to her before.

"Of course!" Fantine said. "I mean, all of us here _already_ knew how odd and queer you are. But now, everyone in the whole _county _knows you're a freak!" She and Justine burst into giggles.

Mimi scowled, trying not to show she was hurt. "Oh, what do _you _know?" she scoffed.

"I know that everyone in town's been talking about you," Fantine retorted. "My father said if a daughter of his pulled a stunt like that, he'd turn her over his knee!"

"So tell us, Mimi: Are you going to start wearing trousers next?" Justine added. "I mean, you already _think_ you're a boy, you might as well start dressing like one!" They giggled again.

Angrily, Mimi turned and walked away without another word. _Who cares what they think? _she told herself. She saw the boys clustered up ahead, and her spirits rose. The boys were her _real _friends.

"Hi!" she said as she ran up to them. "Did you see me at the contest? Didn't I do great?"

They stared at her. "Are you kidding?" yelled Michel. "You made us all look stupid! Thanks a _lot, _Mimi!_"_

Mimi was stunned. "What do you mean?"

"Everyone at the fair was _laughing _at us!" said Eriq, scowling. "They said we must be really lousy at archery if we couldn't even beat a _girl!_"

"Yeah, my dad was really mad at me!" added a boy named Neville. "He said I embarrassed him."

Mimi was outraged to hear this. "But that's not fair - how could they say that? Just 'cause I'm better than you doesn't mean you're _bad!" _

The boys glared at her, not mollified by this comment. "Oh, sure, rub it in!" Michel said. "You always think you're _so_ much better than us. You just _have _to steal all the attention! They _said_ you couldn't be in the contest, but you didn't listen! You're such a baby!"

"That's 'cause she's a show-off!" sneered Luc. "We were all doing good, and I was going to win.You were just _jealous._ So you had to run up there and ruin the whole contest!"

"I didn't _mean _to ruin anything," said Mimi, bewildered by all the accusations. "I just wanted to be in the contest, like all of you. I'm really _good _at archery! Why _shouldn't _I be in it?"

"Because you're a girl, and they told you _not_ to!" snapped Luc."I mean, are you _stupid_ or something? Don't you know what 'no' means?

Hearing the commotion, Georges looked over to see what was happening, and was upset to see the hurt on Mimi's face. He was a gentle boy who hated conflict, but he couldn't just stand by and let kids pick on his little sister. Normally Alain filled the role of "big brother," watching out for his younger siblings, but Alain wasn't at school anymore. _I'm the only big brother now, _Georges thought. _Mimi needs me. _He ran over immediately and put his arm around her protectively. "Leave her alone!" he told the boys angrily.

"Oh, sure," spat Luc. "We'll be _glad _to leave her alone. Come on, guys, let's go play over there." They went off.

Mimi kicked angrily at a patch of grass. "It's not _fair!"_ she told Georges. "Everyone _else_ got to be in the contest. And I was the best! I should have won. But now they're all mad at me! They say I made them look bad."

Georges was distressed to see his sister so unhappy. Although he himself never would have broken the rules like she had, he sympathized with what she was going through now. He couldn't even imagine how awful it must feel to have the whole _town _mad at you, and the kids not wanting to play with you. "I'm so sorry they're acting like that," he told her, giving her a hug. "Maybe you could tell them that you didn't mean to make them look bad?"

"I already told them that. They wouldn't listen," she grumbled.

"Well, they're mad right now. Give them some time to calm down," Georges suggested. He thought hard about the problem, wanting to be helpful. "Maybe you could try to be really nice to them. If you do something nice for someone, show them that you care about them, it's hard for them to be mad at you."

Mimi considered that, wracking her brain for something she could do that the boys would like. "Hmm...maybe."

The school bell rang, and they headed back inside.

As she passed the school door, Mimi overheard Eriq saying to Michel, "After school, let's get our bows and arrows and practice in the meadow. I really want to get good at it."

Suddenly Mimi had an idea. She could help the boys get better at archery! They'd complained that she was showing them up and always had to be the best...but if she tried to help _them _get better, they'd see that she was being nice and being their friend, _not_ trying to make them look bad. Then they'd like her again!

The school day passed quickly. When school was over, Belle gathered her children and went outside, worrying if the gossip was still going on. She was startled to see Bunny, of all people, waiting for her outside the school door.

"Oh, Belle, there you are!" said Bunny with a big smile. "Why don't you come over to my house for some coffee and we can have a nice talk?"

"Well...I have to get the children home," Belle said, confused as to why Bunny was acting so friendly, especially when her sisters had been anything but.

"I can take Lili home," Georges offered

"Mama, I have to go talk to the boys right now," Mimi said, her eyes scanning the crowd of children for the boys. "Can I meet you back at home?"

"I suppose it would be all right," Belle said.

"There, you see? Now you can come!" Bunny said chummily, hooking her arm through the bewildered Belle's and leading her away.

O o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o0 o o o o 0o o o o o o o

Mimi headed for the meadow and waited in the trees for the boys to show up. They didn't see her at first. She watched them practice their archery for a while, studying them to see if there was anything she could say to help.

After a little while, she went over to Eriq. "Listen, Eriq...I could help you, if you want," she suggested.

"What do you mean?" he said.

"You're pretty good at archery, but your aim needs to be steadier," Mimi explained. "When you pull the arrow back, your hand has to be drawn all the way back to your chin. Make sure your arm is completely level: your hand should line up with your elbow. And your chin should rest on the hand that's pulling the string back."

For a moment, it seemed like Eriq was listening, and Mimi felt hopeful. It was working!

But then Luc interrupted. "Boy, Mimi, you really have a lot of nerve! First you get up there like a big show-off and ruin the contest for everyone, and now you come over here when we're practicing and start telling us everything we're doing wrong? No one _asked_ you! What are you, the champion archer of the universe?"

Eriq, conflicted, looked from one to the other, not sure what to say.

"I was just trying to help!" Mimi protested.

"No, you weren't!" Michel jumped in. "You're just being a big know-it-all, trying to show how much _better _you are than us!"

"Yeah," Luc added. He stuck his tongue out at her. "Just go _away!_ Are you stupid or something? Can't you see no one wants you here? Get out of here!"

Mimi couldn't believe it. They were all playing together just a few days ago – why did they suddenly _hate_ her so much? All she'd wanted was to be in the contest with them!

Upset, she ran from the meadow. She didn't want to go home – she was too worked up, too full of anger and sadness and frustration, feeling like she would explode if she didn't let it out. Unlike her sister Lili, she wasn't the type to sit in her room and cry...and she _certainly_ wasn't going to pour her feelings out into poetry, like her brother Georges. Instead, she just ran and ran and _ran,_ as hard as she could, as long as she could, her legs pumping, turning her frustrated energy into action, focusing on the beat-beat-beat of her feet against the dirt road until it filled her mind and she didn't have to think about anything else.

She ran for a long time, until she was exhausted and spent and out of breath, and had to stop. She sat down, breathing heavily, letting her pounding heart slow down. Finally, she stood up and slowly started walking towards home, feeling empty and miserable.


	14. Something There That Wasn't There Before

That afternoon, Paige was dusting the glasses on the dining room table when Luc came banging through the front door. He charged through the living room, bouncing a ball. It bounced up and almost hit Paige in the face. Startled, she jumped back with a shriek.

"Luc, please be careful!" Paige said, keeping an eye on the ball as she went back to dusting. "You know Mother doesn't like you playing ball in the house."

Luc retrieved his ball, ignoring her comment. "Get me a sandwich."

Paige gestured at the table. "I have to finish dusting first."

"But I'm hungry!" whined Luc. "Why do I have to wait?"

Paige sighed. "I'll be done in just a minute." She passed her featherduster carefully over the table.

Luc looked grumpy. "I'm bored," he griped. He bounced his ball again, harder this time. As it flew up, he tried to grab it, but missed. It landed on the table and bounced into a glass, which toppled over and knocked into two others. All three glasses fell off the table and shattered on the floor.

The sound of breaking glass brought Mme. Grognon rushing in from the kitchen, where she had been mopping the floor. She gasped at the mess. "Paige! How could you be so careless?"

Paige waited to see if Luc would confess, but of course he didn't. She thought quickly. She knew accusing him would likely bring an automatic denial. So instead, she simply knelt by the mess and picked up the ball, which lay among the broken glass. She shook off the shards and held it out to him. "Here, Luc – here's your ball back."

Mme. Grognon looked from the ball to Luc. "Oh...I see." She sighed wearily. "Luc, dear, I've asked you before not to play ball in the house."

"Sorry," Luc muttered unrepentantly. "I forgot._"_

"Why don't you go play outside?" his mother suggested.

"But I'm _hungry!"_ Luc complained.

"All right, just wait a moment." Mme. Grognon went into the kitchen and came back with some bread and cheese. "Here you are."

"Thanks." Luc grabbed the food and went outside.

Mme. Grognon turned to her daughter, shaking her head. "Growing boys do have so much energy, don't they? Well, you'd better clean that mess up, Paige. Be careful of the broken glass."

Paige nodded and went to get the broom and dustpan. For the first time, it struck her as unfair that she should have to clean up Luc's mess, but she knew better than to talk back to her mother.

As she was sweeping up the shards, her mother came over to her. "Paige, dear, when you're done here, please go to the glassblower's shop and order some new glasses. I'll leave the money here on the table."

Paige's heart leaped at the unexpected errand. The glassblowing shop...that was where Nicolas worked. She hadn't seen him since that day at the bookstore a month earlier, but she'd often thought of him, replaying the scene in her mind. Now she was actually being sent to go _talk_ to him! A thrill ran through her at the thought.

"Of course, Mother. I'll go right now," she said, trying to keep her voice calm. She put the broom and dustpan away, took the money and eagerly headed out the door.

But as she approached the marketplace, and faced the looming prospect of actually _meeting_ him, she was overcome with nerves. _I'm such an idiot! _she berated herself. _He probably doesn't even remember me. He was just being polite at the bookstore – that's the kind of person he is. He's so charming and funny...why would he even look twice at someone like me?_

Her heart sank as she envisioned what would happen. She would order the glasses, he would write down her order and say "Is there anything else?" and she would just _stand_ there, tongue-tied and shy, unable to think of anything to say except "No, that's all" and flee the shop. Why had she been so excited at the thought of seeing him again? Nothing could possibly come of it, after all. Her steps slowed.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sight of Mimi walking along the road toward her. Paige noticed that the little girl wasn't bouncing around or racing at top speed as usual. She was drifting along, lost in her own thoughts, looking upset. As Paige watched, Mimi angrily kicked at a rock, which went tumbling away.

As Mimi got closer, Paige greeted her. "Hello."

Mimi looked up. "Oh. Hi," she said gloomily.

"I saw you at the fair the other day," Paige said. "I wanted to tell you...well, what you did, getting up there and shooting those arrows, when they said you couldn't be in the contest...?" She suddenly broke off and glanced around nervously, making sure her mother wasn't around to hear.

"Well?" Mimi said, almost challengingly. She lifted her chin defiantly, looking Paige in the eye. "What about it?"

Paige took a deep breath. "I think it was very brave of you." There. She'd said it. She half expected the earth to open up and swallow her, but it didn't.

Mimi looked stunned. She clearly hadn't expected that. "Really?"

Paige nodded, talking quickly now. "And I think they _should _have named you the winner. I mean, the contest is supposed to show who's the best, and you were _so _much better than all those boys. I don't think it was fair at all." Her heart was pounding at her daring – she couldn't believe she was actually saying such scandalous things aloud. But...it felt _so _good to finally speak her mind, say what she really thought, even if it was only to Mimi. She felt a sudden, giddy sense of freedom.

"Thanks!" Mimi's face had lit up, and she was beaming. "Other people are being so _mean_ about it! All I wanted was to be in the contest like everyone else."

Paige nodded sympathetically. She knew perfectly well what people were saying about Mimi – she'd been hearing it from her mother ever since the contest, after all. It was strange: in the past, she would have automatically agreed with her mother. A girl flagrantly breaking the rules, trying to compete with boys...it certainly wasn't right or proper at all! A girl had to know her place in life.

But lately, since moving to this village and meeting Mimi, Paige felt like her eyes were opening, and she was seeing things she'd never seen before. The more her mother ranted about how this crazy girl should give up hunting and riding and archery, the more a little voice inside Paige kept asking _"But...why?" _In truth, it was a little scary, because no one else seemed to see it that way. Part of her wanted to go back to how it was before: to crawl back into her safe cocoon where life was simple and she always did exactly as she was told, never ever questioning anything, never having to think. But it was too late for that.

She forced her attention back to the girl in front of her. "I'm sorry people are being mean to you," she said. "You're very good at archery."

"Thanks!" Mimi said.

"Well, I have to go – my mother sent me to do an errand," Paige said. "I just wanted to tell you that." She smiled.

"Okay! See ya!" Mimi headed toward home, her step a little lighter.

Paige entered the village square, which was lined with shops. Slowly she approached the glassblowing shop. Through the big front window, she could see Nicolas at work, and her breath caught in her throat. He was holding what appeared to be a long rod with a partially-made bottle on the end, and he was using a paddle to flatten out the bottom of the bottle. He was frowning, deep in concentration.

_Oh, I don't want to interrupt him..._ Paige thought in dismay. But she had to order the glasses for her mother. She felt even shyer than usual – it was hard enough for her to work up the courage to talk to Nicolas at all, without the added worry that she would be _bothering _him. Maybe she should go away and come back later? But there was no way of knowing when he wouldn'tbe busy...She stood there, paralyzed by indecision.

Then she thought of Mimi, wanting so badly to be in the contest and being told 'no'...but marching boldly up on that stage anyway, shooting her arrows in front of the entire crowd of people, no matter what they thought of her. It must be wonderful to be so brave. Paige closed her eyes and tried to imagine that _she_ was Mimi, fearless and confident and full of determination. She opened her eyes, took a deep breath, and pushed open the door of the shop.

Hearing the door jingle, Nicolas looked up. Seeing her, his freckled face immediately broke into a smile, and he put down the rod and paddle and came toward her. "Hey, it's you! From the bookstore! Paige, right?"

She nodded, feeling like she would die of happiness right then and there. He actually remembered her! "How are you?" she asked.

"I'm good," he said, pushing his unruly red hair out of his eyes.

Casting about for something to say, Paige suddenly remembered something. "What did your father say about those glassblowing books?" she asked. "Is he going to try those new things?"

Nicolas laughed. "Oh, he grumbled a bit about 'new-fangled nonsense,' but he agreed to give it a try. Some of the new techniques save a lot of work, so he's finally starting to realize I was right, although it's like pulling teeth to get him to admit it." He grinned, and Paige could see that despite his words, he had a lot of affection for his father. "So, how have you been? It must have been hard, moving to a whole new place. Are you settling in? Do you like it here?"

"Yes, it's been very nice," Paige said, thrilling at the realization that she was actually having a conversation with him, as though it was the most natural thing in the world. "Last Saturday we went to the fair – it was wonderful! So much to see! We never had anything like that in our old town."

Nicolas nodded. "I love the fair every year. It's so much fun. Say, did you see that archery contest, where that little girl went up and made all those bullseyes? That was really something, wasn't it?"

Paige nodded, unsure what to say about it. He was being so friendly – she didn't want to risk offending him by telling him she actually _admired_ Mimi. But on the other hand, she just couldn'tbring herself to denigrate Mimi, even though it was the popular opinion.

But Nicolas didn't notice her hesitation, continuing speaking himself. "You know, maybe I'm crazy, but to tell you the truth, I think that girl _should_ have gotten the trophy. I mean, I know the contest was for boys, but come on - if a girl comes along who's _that _good at it? She deserves to win! I don't know why people are getting their danders up over it."

_"Yes!"_ Paige said eagerly, forgetting her shyness in her excitement. He actually _agreed_ with her! "I think it's so unfair that everyone is saying terrible things about her! If she really _is _the best at it, why can't she compete? Isn't the point of the contest to show who's the best?"

"Exactly!" Nicolas said appreciatively. "Wow, it's great to talk to someone who sees it like that. Everyone else thinks I'm nuts when I say that." As he talked, he was struck by the difference in her from the first time they'd met. At the bookstore, she had hung back timidly with her eyes downcast, her long sandy hair falling forward and hiding her face like a curtain, her voice a low mumble as if she wasn't sure she had permission to speak. But now, she was looking right at him, talking quickly and eagerly, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm, with a big smile that lit up her entire face. For a moment, he was distracted from the topic at hand, just watching her.

"I don't think you're nuts at all," Paige was saying. "Or if you are, I am too!" She giggled.

Nicolas laughed too. "Well, I guess crazy people like company! But seriously, I'll never understand why people get so worked up over little stuff like this. So a girl went up and shot some arrows in a boys' contest...so what? Does it affect their lives at all? Honestly, there are so many _big_ problems to worry about in life – like someone being sick, or business being bad, or your house burning down – you know, stuff that's really _worth _getting upset over. I think it's silly for people to be so outraged over this. Live and let live, that's what I say. And hey, it sure made the contest more interesting, right?"

Paige nodded in agreement. "You make a lot of sense."

"Thanks." Nicolas gazed at her a moment, then suddenly realized something. "Oh, hey, I'm sorry! You probably came in here to buy something, and here I am rambling on and on! Pop always says I'll drive all the customers away with my chattering," he added. "So, can I help you with something?"

"Yes, I need to order some glasses. My brother was playing ball in the house and broke ours."

"Oh, I should thank him for bringing me business. Maybe I should buy him some more balls and send him to the neighbors' houses!" He winked, and Paige giggled again. Nicolas was so funny. "Now, let's see..." He went to a shelf and took down two glasses, which he put on the counter in front of her. "We have this kind, which as you see is just a basic plain glass, and then there's this one, with a flowery design all around it. Which one do you like?"

"Oh, the flower one is so pretty!" Paige said admiringly. "You must have worked a long time on that."

He shrugged modestly. "It's not too hard once you get the knack of it. So, do you want that kind?"

Paige hesitated. "I don't know which my mother would want...The flower one must cost more, right?"

"Yeah...but I'll tell you what. If you really like that one, I'll charge you the same as the plain one," Nicolas suggested.

Paige was startled. "Oh, I couldn't let you do that."

"It's okay. Call it a discount for agreeing with me," he joked. "But don't tell anyone, or else they'll all come in here and start telling me I'm right about everything! Which would be great for my ego, but bad for business." He grinned.

Paige smiled. "All right. Thank you – that's very kind of you."

"Well, I could see how much you liked it, and I like people to get what they want," Nicolas said, opening an order book and writing down her order. "So, a set of eight glasses, flower design...they'll be ready on Monday." He told her the price, and she paid him.

"Thank you so much. I'll be back on Monday," she said.

"Great. I'll see you then."

"Yes," she said. Yet she made no move to leave. They stood there for several seconds, just gazing at each other.

Then Paige gave an embarrassed laugh. "Oh...well...um, I guess I should get home. Goodbye!" She headed for the door, feeling like she was walking on air.

"See you Monday," Nicolas said, watching her go.


	15. A Change in the Weather

As Bunny led Belle toward her house, chatting about inconsequential things, her scheming mind was racing. With all the tongues wagging disapprovingly about Mimi, this was the perfect chance for Bunny to befriend Belle and get in her good graces...and hopefully, start paving the way for Belle to think of Suzette as the perfect match for her son.

"Suzette, honey, Mme. Avenant is here," Bunny called as they entered the house. "Would you get her some tea and cake, please?"

"Oh, sure, Mama!" Suzette said agreeably. "Hi, Mme. Avenant! I'll just be a minute!" She headed into the kitchen.

"So, Belle," Bunny said brightly, ushering Belle into the living room and gesturing at the couch. "How are you?"

"I'm fine, thanks," Belle said, sitting down and eyeing Bunny curiously, clearly wondering why she was here.

_Time to be supportive,_ Bunny thought. "I have to tell you, Belle -- your Mimi is just _so_ good at archery!" Bunny gushed, sitting next to Belle and trying hard to sound admiring. "She certainly takes after her father!" Unfortunately, the mention of "Mimi's father" instantly brought to Bunny's mind the image of Gaston standing tall at the contest and defending his daughter, looking so powerful and commanding and manly...With a supreme effort, Bunny suppressed a dreamy sigh and forced her attention back to Belle.

"Thank you. I wish more people felt that way," Belle said with a sigh, as Suzette entered the living room with a pot of tea and a plate of cakes. "Everyone's been criticizing her and gossipping about her. It really hurt her feelings."

Suzette stopped short in the middle of pouring Belle's tea. "Oh, that's so _mean!"_ she cried, genuinely distressed. She was a kindhearted girl who hated for anyone to feel bad. Of course, it _was _very odd for a girl to act like a boy – Suzette couldn't imagine why she'd even _want_ to – but that was her own business, nobody else's, and it didn't give people the right to be mean to her about it. Suzette herself did like gossip, but only _happy_ gossip, like potential wedding proposals and new babies. "If people can't say something nice, they shouldn't say anything at all!" she said firmly, setting out a plate of honey cake for Belle.

Belle smiled gratefully. "Thank you, Suzette. If more people felt like you, this world would be a better place," she said, taking a bite of honey cake. "Mmm – this is delicious cake."

Suzette beamed. "Thanks! I made it myself!"

"Suzette is a _marvellous _cook," Bunny purred, thrilled that Belle was getting a positive impression of her daughter. "She can work miracles in the kitchen. You simply must try her cream puffs sometime; they are just lighter than _air!_ The baker himself is jealous of her. Oh, and you should see her with a needle and thread! She sews _divinely!"_ She turned to her daughter. "Why, you made that dress you're wearing right now, didn't you, honey?" She gestured at Suzette's pink ruffled dress.

Suzette nodded, blushing at the praise.

"Isn't it lovely?" said Bunny. "And look at those tiny stitches - you can hardly even see them. Just as good as you could buy in a store!"

"It's a very pretty dress, " Belle agreed, wondering again what was up.

Bunny smiled, glad to have made her point. _But I should turn the conversation back to Belle now_, she decided. After all, that was why she'd invited Belle in the first place – to get closer to Belle and show her how sympathetic and supportive Bunny could be, in contrast to those "mean gossips." "But anyway, back to _your _daughter," she said. "People are gossipping, you say?"

Belle nodded and took a sip of tea. "Yes. It's very disappointing. I really thought that when people saw Mimi make those bullseyes, they'd be impressed and realize she _deserved_ to win."

Bunny made a show of looking sympathetic, but inwardly, she couldn't believe that Belle could _still_ be so naive after all these years of living in the village. She'd honestly thought people would admire a girl for making a public spectacle of herself? But she held her tongue and asked only, "Well, then, what are you going to do about it?"

Belle shrugged. "I'll just tell her to be strong, and be true to herself, and not let other people's opinions bother her," she said optimistically. "I'm sure that eventually, people will realize how silly it is not to let girls do the same things boys can."

Bunny pursed her lips, certain that that was not going to happen. She hesitated. Her original plan had been to simply agree with anything Belle said in order to get on her good side...but now she unexpectedly found herself feeling sorry for Belle. Belle obviously _wanted_ to be a good mother, but with all those years of books filling her head with strange ideas, she was actually training her daughter to be a complete misfit, and Mimi was the one who would suffer for it. A girl had to fit in and conform in order to be popular and get a husband. But at the rate she was going, Mimi was doomed to end up a lonely old maid. Bunny shuddered at the thought.

_Maybe I can help,_ she thought suddenly. _And after all, if I can put Belle on the right course and help Mimi fit in, Belle will be grateful to me. She'll REALLY like me and Suzette then...and she'll be thrilled to have Alain marrying into such a wonderful family!_

She considered what Belle had just said about encouraging Mimi to "be herself" and not worry about other people's opinions. "Belle...do you really think that's the right thing to do?" she asked in concern.

"What do you mean?" Belle asked, puzzled.

"Well, you have to think of her _future,_ her marriage prospects," Bunny urged. How could Belle not know this? "No man wants a girl who's going to compete with him and show him up and outdo him in all his 'manly' things! Men like to be admired and have their egos stroked. Surely you must know _that,_ after living with Gaston." Bunny nodded wisely. "To get a husband, a girl needs to be feminine, a _real _girl. She needs to know how to make herself pretty, and how to cook, and how to flirt and make men feel good about themselves." Then her eyes lit up with inspiration. "Oh! I have a _wonderful _idea! You can send Mimi over here, and Suzette and I can teach her how to act with boys, and how to dress and do her hair, and how to act like a _normal_ girl!"

"Oh, sure, I could do that!" Suzette said enthusiastically, wanting to help.

Bunny jumped up, caught up in the idea and eager to show off her expertise. "Like when you pick something up, _never _bend over -- it's so unattractive. If you just lower yourself gracefully like _this,_ it's _so_ much prettier!" She demonstrated, making a practiced sort of curtsey. "See how I just lower my head demurely as I daintily pick up the cake? And, oh! Watch _this!"_ She rose and gave a flirty toss of her head, letting her hair flip and bounce. "Boys _love_ that move!"

Then she turned to stand with her back to Belle. "Now, this is a _great_ one: if you think a boy is watching you, you act like you don't notice him at all...but then you pretend you need to adjust your stocking..." She bent slightly and raised her skirt several inches, fiddling with her garter. "Just give him a little flash of leg – that drives the boys _wild!"_

Suzette watched her mother admiringly. "Isn't she something?" she asked Belle. "Why, she knows _everything _there is to know about boys!"

"She certainly is..._something,"_ Belle agreed, trying hard to suppress a laugh at Bunny's ostentatiously flirtatious gyrations.

Bunny was now sashaying along, swaying her hips sexily. She struck a pose with her hand on her hip, looking coyly over her shoulder, and fluttered her eyelashes. "Boys can't resist that look. Trust me, Belle," she said confidently, "Mimi won't have _any_ problems landing a husband when I'm done with her!"

Belle smiled. She was highly amused at Bunny's silliness, but also touched. It was very sweet of Bunny to want to offer her help to Mimi, as misguided as it was, Belle thought. "Thank you, Bunny. That's very kind of you. But I don't think it will be necessary. Besides," she added earnestly, "I don't believe a girl should have to change who she is and cater to a man. I think marriage should be a give-and-take between equals: two people who love and accept each other for who they truly are."

Bunny sighed and shook her head. Poor misguided Belle, with all her idealistic pie-in-the-sky fantasies, she thought. "Maybe that's how it _should_ be, Belle, but Mimi has to live in the _real_ world," she pointed out, a bit impatiently. "I know you have all these big, lofty ideas about changing the world. But is it fair for you to put all that on Mimi? You thought people would admire her for crashing the contest, but look how _that_ turned out! If you keep encouraging her to go on acting this way, she's going to end up a total outcast – no friends, no husband, just a lonely old maid that everyone thinks is crazy. What kind of life is that for a girl?"

Belle's smile faded, and she looked shaken. "Well...of course I don't want her to be an outcast," she said slowly, sounding a bit less sure of herself. "But I want her to be true to herself, too. She loves archery and hunting. I don't think she could ever be happy if she had to give them up. No. I can't do that to her," she concluded firmly. "This is who she is."

Bunny could see that she was adamant, and decided not to push the issue. She'd tried to help, but she certainly wasn't going to risk alienating Belle – not when things were going so well. "Well, of course it's entirely up to you, Belle," she said supportively. "Whatever you think is best, I'm on your side!" She smiled brightly.

Belle smiled back. _That's very kind of her,_ she thought. Then she came back to reality, remembering how catty Bunny had always been to her all these years. Something didn't add up here.

She hesitated, looking at Bunny. Delicately she asked, "Bunny...can I ask you a question?"

"Of course!"

"Well..." Belle tried to find the right words. "It's just...why are you so interested in helping me, all of a sudden? I mean, don't misunderstand, I'm very happy that you're being so friendly to me! But honestly, I'm surprised, after all these years. You and your sisters were never on very good terms with me."

Bunny flushed guiltily. Darn it! Why did Belle have to be so smart? She'd hoped Belle wouldn't be suspicious. "I know," she admitted, trying to think fast. "But, well...you know...we're all older and married now, so many years have gone by..." she stammered. "And I have a fine husband, and a beautiful daughter I couldn't be more proud of...and I just realized how silly it is to hold on to old grudges," she improvised.

Then her eyes gleamed with a sudden inspiration. "Especially now that your son is working for my husband -- it just seems to me that our families should get along and be closer, don't you think?" she purred. She inwardly congratulated herself on coming up with such a perfect comment.

"Oh, I see," Belle said, and to Bunny's relief, she smiled. "I'm very glad to hear that. I never liked having bad feelings between us. I'm very happy that you can let bygones be bygones," she said warmly. She stood up. "Well, I should be going. Thank you for the tea and the advice."

"You're welcome anytime." Bunny walked her to the door. "Let's do it again soon!" she trilled.

After Belle left, Bunny hugged Suzette. "Honey, you were wonderful!"

"I was?" Suzette said, surprised but pleased.

Bunny nodded. "If I were Belle, I'd be _dying_ for someone like you to marry my son! You were just sweet as pie. And she even loved your honey cake!" She smiled. "Alain is going to be one lucky guy!"

"Oh, I just hope that _he_ thinks so!" Suzette said fervently.

"He will. How can he not?" promised Bunny. "Especially if Belle is on our side!" She smiled, feeling triumphant at how well her plans were going. "Well, we'd better get dinner started. Your father will be home soon."

"Okay!" said Suzette, and they headed into the kitchen.

O o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o oo o o o o o

Belle headed for home, thinking about the conversation. Bunny's sudden change in attitude still seemed puzzling, but Belle wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Bunny's prediction that Mimi would end up an outcast was much more upsetting. Belle found herself recalling her own lonely "outcast" days – they seemed so long ago now. Being so different from everyone else, always aware that they were talking about her behind her back and thinking she was strange...She remembered anxiously asking her father, "Papa, do you think I'm odd?"

_He always reassured me that I was special and wonderful just the way I was,_ Belle remembered, feeling a warm glow at the thought. _Dear Papa...he was always my rock, the one person I could always count on._ She was glad that she was here to offer her daughter the same support.

Then she perked up as another thought struck her. _And Mimi has friends to help her through this. She's not_ _alone,_ she reminded herself, recalling Mimi's words that morning. _She said all the boys like her and admire her for being athletic. That's what matters most...not the opinion of a bunch of housewives!_

Feeling more cheerful, she entered her house and started getting dinner ready. _All children go through difficult_ _stages. But this will pass and it will all work out,_ she assured herself.

A short while later, Mimi burst in, slamming the door hard behind her, her face stormy. Although meeting Paige had briefly cheered her up, her thoughts had soon returned to the boys and how they'd rejected her, and by the time she got home she was upset again.

"What's wrong?" Belle asked, seeing her expression.

"Everyone _hates_ me!" Mimi wailed.

"What?" Belle came over to her. "Oh, honey, I'm sure no one hates you..."

"They _do!"_ Mimi flung herself down on the couch. "All the boys are mad at me! They say I ruined the contest and made them look bad! They don't want to play with me anymore!"

"They don't?" Belle's heart sank. Mimi had been so certain that the boys would be on her side. She sat down next to Mimi and put her arms around her. "Oh, sweetheart, I'm so sorry. That's so upsetting."

"And Fantine and Justine said I'm a freak! I'm _not _a freak...am I, Mama?" Mimi added, looking up at Belle anxiously.

"Of course not!" Belle assured her, feeling a pang. "You're a very talented girl."

"Well, no one else thinks so," Mimi grumbled. "I told the boys I didn't _mean_ to make them look bad, but they wouldn't listen! Then after school, they were all practicing archery, so I tried to help them. But they said I was a know-it-all and told me to go away!" She angrily punched a pillow. "It's not _fair!_ I was just trying to help!"

"I know. I don't blame you for being upset," Belle said sympathetically. "I'm so sorry they don't understand."

Mimi got up, too restless and upset to sit still. "I'm going to my room." She ran up the stairs as Belle watched worriedly.

_Poor Mimi_... Almost unwillingly, Belle found herself remembering Bunny's words: "I know you have all these big, lofty ideas about changing the world, but is it fair to put all that on Mimi?...If you keep encouraging her to act this way, she's going to end up a total outcast – no friends, no husband, just a lonely old maid that everyone thinks is crazy!"

A twinge of doubt crept into Belle's mind. It was so hard to be a parent when your child was hurting, so hard to know the right thing to do...

The door opened, and to Belle's great relief, Gaston came in. Quickly she went to him and "shushed" him before he could make his usual booming announcement that he was home and bring the kids running.

"What's the matter?" he asked, seeing how upset she looked.

Belle filled him in about the negative reaction to Mimi's actions at the fair.

Gaston was shocked. "Really? No one's said anything to _me."_

"Well, they wouldn't, would they?" Belle pointed out. "Who's going to have the nerve to tell _Gaston_ to his face that they think his daughter's odd?" She sighed. "They do, though. People have been whispering and gossipping about her all day, and giving me advice, and some of the children called Mimi names—"

Gaston scowled, and his fists clenched unconsciously. _"Who?"_ he demanded angrily. "Who's making my little girl feel bad?" He looked ready to go into battle.

Belle had to smile at his protectiveness. "Believe me, I'm feeling exactly the same way!" she admitted. "But we can't _force _people to like Mimi. It doesn't work that way."

Gaston sighed and sat down on the couch next to her. "I guess you're right," he conceded reluctantly. "But I just don't _get_ it! How can they not like her?" He was utterly baffled. "She's exactly like I was at that age, and everyone always LOVED me!"

"Well, you were a _boy,"_ Belle said with uncharacteristic bitterness. "Apparently all the skills that make a boy admirable and wonderful suddenly become scandalous and inappropriate if a _girl _does them! At least, that's what people think."

Gaston frowned. "Then that's _their_ problem. Idiots!" he said firmly. "I'll just tell her to ignore them. She's my daughter, and that makes her the best!"

"I've been telling her that too...well, more or less," Belle said. Gaston had put his own spin on things, as usual, but the underlying message was basically the same. "But Gaston, I just don't know...I've always been so certain that we were doing the right thing, but now..."

"What do you mean?" Gaston asked.

Belle sighed. "I thought this was all behind me, but this is bringing it all back..." She closed her eyes, wishing she could will away the unhappy memories and the feelings they evoked. "All the gossip, the negative comments...It's like when I first came to this town. You remember."

"It must have been rough on you," Gaston said sympathetically. He'd never truly realized what a hard time she'd had, all those years ago. Back then, he'd been much too focused on his own desire to have her for his wife to imagine what she was going through. He put his arms around her protectively. "My poor darling."

"It's all right," Belle assured him. "It's all in the past...or at least I thought it was. But now, seeing it happening to Mimi... It just tears my heart out to think of her having to go through that." She was silent a moment. "I've always encouraged Mimi to do what she loves, even if it's not 'traditional' for a girl. But am I ignoring what's best for her?" She hesitated, then plunged forward, confessing all her fear and uncertainty. "Bunny told me today that no man will ever marry a girl who acts like this, that I'm condemning my daughter to a life alone. And now, the whole town is gossipping about her, and she was _so_ upset today, saying the boys don't want to play with her anymore and the girls are being mean to her. I remember how much that hurts, how lonely it is..."

She looked up at Gaston. "All my instincts tell me to encourage her to be proud of who she is and to be herself, no matter what people say. But...am I wrong?" she asked worriedly. "Maybe I'm just turning her into a social outcast, and she'll be lonely and miserable and it's all my fault. Maybe Bunny is right, and I should be trying to help her be more like everyone else." She sighed and leaned against Gaston's chest, grateful for his solid presence. _I'm not alone in this_, she reminded herself. "Gaston...what do you think?"

Gaston stroked her hair. "I'll tell you what I think." His voice was strong and firm, without the slightest hesitation. "I think Mimi is _amazing._ She's got more talent at hunting and archery than any kid I've ever seen. She's tough, and she knows what she wants, and she doesn't let anything get in her way. And I'll tell you this, Belle." His voice grew fierce. "I don't care what _anybody_ says. There is no way in hell I'm going to tell my daughter to _stop _being extraordinary and turn herself into a meek little mouse, darning socks and baking cookies, just to please some gossippy old windbags who ought to mind their own business! And as for getting a husband...well, any man who's too stupid to appreciate how great Mimi is doesn't _deserve_ her. I wouldn't _let _her marry an idiot like that."

Belle felt a rush of love for him as she listened to him. Everything he said was exactly what she felt inside: that Mimi needed the freedom to be herself. More than anything, Belle wanted to assure her daughter that there was nothing wrong with her just because she wasn't like the rest of the crowd, and that she should be proud of her talents, not ashamed of them – just as her own dear Papa had reassured her all those years ago. The villagers' comments had shaken her up and made her temporarily doubt herself...but now, hearing Gaston confirm her own feelings, and being so positive and certain about it, made her feel that her instincts had been right after all.

Feeling relieved, she wrapped her arms around Gaston and kissed him. He was surprised, but pleased. "What's that for?"

She smiled. "Just for being wonderful."

"Oh, that," he said dismissively, with a teasing grin. He gave her an affectionate squeeze. "Don't worry about Mimi. Eventually people will come around and realize how great she is. I mean, look at you: people used to think _you _were strange, but now you're the schoolmistress and everyone respects you, and you even got all the kids in the village reading. And look who you ended up marrying – the best guy in town!" He winked.

Belle smiled back, reassured by his words. _He's right_, she thought. _I was different and I didn't fit in, but things worked out in the end. And I never had to stop being myself or give up the things I loved to do._ Mimi deserved no less. She needed parents who encouraged her to stand up for herself and be exactly who she was.

O o o o o o o o oo oo o o o o o o o oo o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o oo o

"So, I'm proud of you, Mimi," Gaston finished. He and Belle had been having a long talk with Mimi in her room, and it seemed to be helping. "And I'll tell you this: they might say they don't _want_ a girl to compete, or claim it's wrong for a girl to compete...but after what you did, they can _never_ say that a girl isn't _good_ enough to compete. You showed them all that a girl can be just as good at archery as a boy!"

Mimi beamed, feeling better.

"Your father is right. And you never know..." Belle mused. "Among all those people watching, maybe somewhere in the crowd there was a little girl who saw you and thought, 'I can do that!' Negative people always shout the loudest, but for all we know, there could also be some people who admired what you did."

Mimi perked up suddenly. "There _is!_ Paige told me she thought I was brave!"

Belle was surprised. "Paige? Mme. Grognon's daughter?" That was unexpected. Mimi nodded.

"There, you see?" Gaston said proudly. "You're already inspiring someone! You're blazing trails and doing things no girl in the village has ever done before. You're a true Avenant, that's for sure!"

Delighted by the praise, Mimi flung her arms around her papa's neck. He laughed and scooped her up, carrying her down the stairs to dinner. Belle followed, smiling.

O o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o oo o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

Mimi went to bed that night determined that the next morning, she would face whatever comments came her way with her head held high.

But late that night, a snowstorm started up. The family was awakened by howling winds and blinding snow swirling around the house. "Well, there's no way anyone's going to school or work today," Belle said, making breakfast.

"Yay!" Mimi said, bouncing up and down. "And Papa can't go hunting! He has to stay home with us!"

Gaston grinned and ruffled her hair. "Looks that way! I do have to see to the horses first, though." He and Alain braved the weather to go out to the barn and make sure the horses were protected from the elements, while Georges stoked the fire on the hearth.

The family spent a cozy morning inside. By noon, the storm had ended, and the village was clear and still, blanketed in white. "Oh! Can we go out and play in the snow?" begged Mimi.

"All right," said Belle with a smile. "But everyone bundle up! I don't want anyone getting sick!"

"Come on, kids – let's get the sled out of the barn! It's perfect weather for it!" Gaston suggested. Belle had to smile. Gaston was like a kid himself when it came to snow.

They headed through the village, pulling the sled and greeting neighbors as they went. Mimi found that her big resolution to be strong and proud wasn't necessary – almost to her disappointment, no one was paying any attention to her at all. Today all the chatter and gossip was about the unexpected storm. The roof of old man Métayer's barn had collapsed under the weight of the snow ("I've been _telling_ him for months that the wood was rotted and he should get it fixed, but did he listen to me? No! And _now_ look what happened!" Mme. Metayer was telling everyone in earshot). Danielle Bouif, the cobbler's wife, had gone into labor just before dawn, and her poor husband had had to brave the icy winds and deep snowdrifts to fetch the midwife. But thankfully, Danielle had given birth to a healthy boy and both were fine. Such were the snatches of conversation Belle and her family heard as they went along.

Then Belle saw Amelie, LeFou and their sons Henri and Denis up ahead, and she and Gaston went to greet them.

Denis said happily, "Hi, Lili! We're going to make a snowman! Want to help?"

"Okay!" said Lili happily.

"You guys want to help too?" Henri asked Georges and Alain.

Georges said, "Well, we were just about to go sledding on the hill..."

"Oh, I'd rather do _that!"_ Henri said eagerly. "Let's go!" He went off with Alain, Georges and Gaston, while LeFou helped Denis and Lili roll a big ball of snow.

Amelie smiled at Belle. "The children really love the snow, don't they?" She patted her baby, who was snuggled in a pouch on her chest, and cooed to her, "One day you'll be playing in the snow too."

"I don't think she cares - she looks very cozy and warm right where she is!" Belle said, admiring the baby.

"Yes, thanks to your father's invention! This baby pouch is a godsend," Amelie said.

As the women chatted, Mimi saw Eriq and the other boys a short distance away, having a snowball fight with some of the bigger boys. She drifted over for a closer look and watched longingly, wishing she could join in.

The younger boys were getting the worst of it. A snowball hit Michel in the face, and the opposing team cheered. "Bullseye!" crowed one of the bigger boys.

Michel wiped off the snow glumly. "We're getting _killed_ here!" he said to Eriq and Neville.

Then Eriq noticed Mimi watching. He cupped his hands around his mouth. "Mimi! Come help us win this snowball fight!" Mimi's face lit up, and eagerly she scrambled up the hill toward them.

Michel and Neville exchanged a surprised glance. Then Neville shrugged. "We sure could use the help," he conceded.

Michel nodded. "She _is_ the best at snowball fights," he agreed.

Luc made a face. "I don't want her to play!"

"Oh, shut up, Luc," snapped Eriq. The other boys nodded, agreeing with Eriq.

Mimi reached them. "All right!" she shouted. "Let's _win_ this game!" Quickly she began scooping up snow and throwing rapid-fire snowballs, hard and fast with unerring accuracy. Encouraged, the other boys began throwing snowballs too.

Down below, Amelie was telling Belle about the baby. "She's growing so fast, I just can't believe it! She got her first tooth last week..."

Out of the corner of her eye, Belle suddenly noticed Mimi on the hill. She was laughing, her cheeks flushed as she threw snowballs with the boys. Only half-listening to Amelie, Belle smiled with joy, watching her daughter play happily with her friends.


	16. Getting to Know You

The following Monday, Nicolas was busy working on a glass bowl. "There! Finished." With satisfaction, he set the glass bowl on the worktable. "What do you think?"

His father, Monsieur Vitrier, picked it up and examined it at all angles to make sure it was perfectly rounded and even. "Mmm...I must say, I can't see any flaws...It'll do."

"Why, Pop! Is that an actual _compliment?"_ Nicolas said in mock disbelief, his eyes twinkling.

His father suppressed a grin, covering it with a "harrumph!" "That's the younger generation for you -- always sassing their elders!" he said. "In my day, we knew how to show _respect." _He put the bowl on a shelf. "It's a good bowl, I'll admit it. We might make a solid craftsman of you yet. As for your _manners_..." He shook his head mournfully. "That's a lost cause, I suspect." Nicolas laughed.

At that moment, Paige was heading toward the shop, full of anticipation. All week she had been daydreaming about her last talk with Nicolas and looking forward to Monday, when she would come to pick up the glasses and have an excuse to see him again. As she approached the shop, she saw Nicolas through the window, talking with an older man – _that must be his father,_ she thought. She felt a surge of excitement as she opened the door and went in.

Nicolas had been laughing at something his father had said, but when the door jingled, they both immediately looked up. Seeing Paige, Nicolas quickly straightened up and smoothed back his unruly red hair.

His father, meanwhile, stepped forward. "Bonjour, mademoiselle. I am Monsieur Vitrier. How may I help you today?"

Nicolas interjected quickly, "Oh, I'll get this one, Pop!" Ignoring his father's raised eyebrow, he came forward and beamed at Paige. "How are you?"

"I'm fine," she said, smiling back at him. It was so good to see him again! She felt that there were no place on earth she would rather be than this shop. Neither of them noticed that the old man was watching them with amusement.

"I have your glasses all ready," Nicolas said eagerly. "I'll go get them right now." He hurried into the back room.

"Ah, so _you're _the one who ordered the flower glasses!" Monsieur Vitrier said to Paige. "On my word, I've never seen Nicolas work so hard on an order before! The amount of _time_ he spent detailing those flower designs...I swear, I thought he must be painting the Sistine Chapel on those glasses—"

"Pop!" Nicolas interrupted hastily, coming back into the room. "Don't you have some work to do in the back room? Inventory or something?"

His father waved a hand. "All right, all right, I can tell when I'm not wanted! Don't mind me at all -- I'm only your father, and the _owner _of this establishment..." But he disappeared into the back room.

Nicolas sighed with relief and put the box of glasses on the counter. "Here. Tell me what you think. I hope it's all right."

Paige carefully took out a glass. The delicate flower design was much more detailed than the ones he had shown her on her first visit. She gasped in delight. "Oh, Nicolas! This is _beautiful!"_

Nicolas grinned. "You really like it?"

"Of course! I can't believe you did this _yourself!"_ she marvelled. "You're very talented." Then she looked up, worried. "I just hope you didn't spend _too _much time on it – I mean, I'm sure you had other work to do that was more important, and I didn't even pay you full price—"

"It's fine," Nicolas said, waving her concerns away. "I'm just really glad you like them."

"I do," she said. Then she noticed something sticking out of his shirt pocket. "Oh, what's that?" she asked curiously, pointing.

"Hm?" He looked at his shirt. "Oh, that! It's a harmonica."

"You play the harmonica?" she asked with interest.

He looked embarrassed. "Yes...but not very _well_ or anything. It's just something to pass the time when business is slow. And it's good exercise for a glassblower," he added. "Strengthens the lungs."

"Can I hear?" Paige asked.

"Well...if you want...but don't expect too much," he warned. "I'm no virtuoso!"

She smiled. "I can't play _any _instrument, so I'll be impressed no matter _what _you do," she pointed out.

"Ah, the perfect audience!" he said with a grin. "All right then." He took out the harmonica and played a simple, jaunty tune.

Paige clapped her hands. "Oh, that's lovely!"

"It's pretty easy if you practice. I can show you if you want," Nicolas offered. "Here..." He put the harmonica to her lips. "Just relax and blow. Try to focus the air _through _the harmonica, not just into it."

Paige concentrated and blew. An unsteady, warbling note came out.

"Very good for a first time!" Nicolas said approvingly.

"It's wonderful that you can do so many things," Paige said wistfully. "I wish I could do things like that."

Nicolas pocketed the harmonica. "Do you have any hobbies?"

Paige shook her head. "No," she admitted, feeling embarrassed. He was so talented, and she couldn't do anything exciting at all! "All I ever do is help my mother with the cooking and cleaning and sewing. I'm the most boring person alive," she added ruefully.

"No, you're not!" Nicolas protested. "In fact, you're the most interesting person I've met in a long time."

"Really?" she said in surprise.

"Really," he said. "And besides," he added jokingly, "you keep telling me how great I am, so you're _obviously_ a woman of excellent taste."

Paige giggled. "Oh, so _that's _the key to being a fascinating conversationalist!" she teased. Then she sobered, looking up at him. His eyes were so warm and kind...She felt as though she could tell him anything. "My mother always told me that children should be seen and not heard, especially girls," she found herself explaining. "No one ever wanted to hear my opinion. So I've always been very quiet, afraid to speak up."

Nicolas looked surprised. "You don't seem quiet to me. I mean, you talk to _me,_ and you say interesting things – I always like hearing what you think."

She felt a warm glow at his words. "Well, you're not my mother," she pointed out with a grin.

He laughed. "That's true."

Paige hesitated a moment, then plunged on. "And...well...I guess I feel comfortable with you," she said shyly. "When I'm with you, I feel like I _can_ say anything. Like it's okay to be who I am."

He smiled, looking touched. "I'm really glad to hear that. Because honestly? I think who you are is pretty terrific." Paige blushed. They looked at each other for a moment. Then Nicolas cleared his throat awkwardly and went on, a bit too casually. "In fact...I was thinking...The annual village Christmas party is coming in a few weeks, and, well, would you want to go with me?" The last few words came out in a rush.

"Go with _you?_ To a party?" She hadn't expected that, not in a million years! A wave of pure joy swept through her. She felt like she should pinch herself to see if she was dreaming. But then reality set in, and she crashed down to earth. "Oh, no...I couldn't!"

"That's all right!" Nicolas said hastily, trying to cover his disappointment. "You don't have to if you don't want to. It was just an idea."

"Oh, no, I DO want to!" Paige said quickly, even more distressed. She didn't want him to think she didn't like him! "It's the nicest thing anyone's ever asked me. It's just that my mother is _so_ strict – I'm not even supposed to _talk _to boys, really. If I told her I wanted to go to a party with a boy, she'd be scandalized. She'd _never_ let me go, I know it." She was trying hard not to cry. To have to turn him down, when he was being so nice...

"Oh, I see!" Nicolas said, looking relieved. "I'm glad it wasn't anything _I _did wrong." He gently touched her chin, lifting her face to look at him. "Hey, it's all right, Paige. Don't be upset. I'm sure she just wants to protect you. You're lucky you have a mother who cares about you so much."

Paige sighed glumly. "It doesn't feel that way." But it was a relief to know he understood and wasn't mad.

"My mother used to be over-protective too, always fussing over me and making sure I was wearing a hat in the cold and things like that," Nicolas said wistfully. "It used to annoy me sometimes. But then...she died. And now I really miss that. Pop is great, but, you know...it's not the same."

"Oh, Nicolas, I'm so sorry," Paige said, her own problems immediately vanishing from her mind. "I didn't know." He always seemed so sunny and cheerful, she'd never have guessed he had such sorrow in his past. Her heart went out to him. "That must have been so hard on you. How old were you?"

"Ten," he replied. "And yeah, it _was _very hard at first. Pop and I just felt lost. She was like the light of our house, the one who kept everything going. Without her...we didn't know what to do, how to go on. How to fill the empty space." He lowered his voice, mindful that his father was in the other room. "I'd come home from school sometimes and see him just sitting alone in the dark, not looking at anything...I knew he was thinking about her and being sad. I hated to see him like that. And I couldn't bear the silence. So I would make up some crazy, funny story about something that supposedly happened that day, and I'd just go on and on, getting more and more ridiculous. He'd say it was a load of nonsense, that he'd never seen such a silly boy in all his born days...but it got him out of his mood." Nicolas grew thoughtful. "I guess that's how we ended up the way we are. I'd be cracking jokes or talking a mile a minute...he'd say he couldn't believe a boy could be such a chatterbox, and what he wouldn't _give_ for just five minutes of peace...we bickered a lot, but somehow, that's what got us through it, you know?"

Paige put her hand on his arm, looking up at him with sympathy. Even as a child he'd been such a dear, kind person, trying to help his father through their loss, she thought. "He's very lucky to have you."

Nicolas smiled. "Well, I'm lucky to have him, too. He's a good guy." Then, raising his voice deliberately, he added, "Even though he's the grouchiest old man you'll ever meet!"

An outraged "harrumph!" came from the back room, and Nicolas and Paige laughed.

"So anyway...what was I saying before?" Nicolas said, trying to regain his train of thought. He looked sheepish. "I guess Pop is right after all – I talk so much, I don't even know what I'm saying half the time! Oh, now I remember...the party. I was just trying to say it's all right, I totally understand. I wouldn't want to get you in trouble with your mother." He thought for a moment. Then his eyes lit up with an idea. "But you know...that party, it's not like an actual _dance _-- I mean, it's not romantic or anything. It's just a huge Christmas party for the entire village. Everyone goes: old people, little kids, the whole town. Do you think your family might go to it?"

Paige looked hopeful. "Oh, if it's an event the whole _village_ goes to, I'm sure they will! My father's the town minister, after all; he always feels that he needs to be present at important village functions. And my mother loves social occasions."

"Great!" Nicolas said happily. "So maybe I'll see you there, then."

"That would be wonderful!" Paige said eagerly. "I can't wait!"

"Me neither," Nicolas said. "And until then...I mean...if you wanted to stop by the shop sometimes, you know, just to say hi...that would be nice too. Only if you're not busy, I mean," he added quickly.

"I'd like that...but wouldn't I disturb you if you're working?"

Nicolas shook his head. "Nah. I can always use a break now and then."

"All right. Then I will!" Paige said. "Thanks for asking me." She picked up the box of glasses. "Well, I'd better get these home. They're really beautiful – you did a fantastic job."

"Thanks," Nicolas said. He smiled. "Well...see you soon."

"Definitely!" she said with a wave, and left the shop, her heart soaring. He liked her...he really liked her! He thought she was interesting to talk to – _her! _– and he wanted her to come visit him at the shop. He'd even wanted to take her to an actual _party!_ And he'd been _so _understanding when she explained why she couldn't...but oh, if her family went, she _could _see him there after all! Life was suddenly so wonderful, she couldn't believe it.

Meanwhile, back at the shop, Nicolas watched her go, a big goofy grin on his face. He was startled by the sound of his father's voice next to him. "So? Are you done with your little rendezvous? Am I allowed to come out now?"

Nicolas looked embarrassed. "Sure, Pop. Thanks for staying back there."

His father looked at the door through which Paige had exited. "She seems like a very nice girl. I approve."

"Thanks," Nicolas said, pleased.

His father picked up his tools, ready to go back to work. "And she's actually _willing_ to listen to that caterwauling you call harmonica music...I'd say you'd better snatch her up while you can!"

Nicolas laughed. "Good point! That alone makes her one of a kind," he joked.

Holding his tools, his father paused for a moment. He cleared his throat. "You know, son...I have to say...she's a lucky girl."

Nicolas was surprised. He was used to teasing and ribbing. "Well, gee...thanks, Pop."

The old man nodded, a bit embarrassed by the moment of sincerity. He went to the counter and opened his order book as a distraction. "Anyway, if you're done lollygagging with females, maybe we can finally get some work done around here!"

"Okay," Nicolas said agreeably. They went back to work, both smiling.


	17. It's Party Time

_Author's Note: I'm so sorry it took so long to update! But hopefully the insane length of this chapter will make up for the delay. :) Special thanks and credit to E. Melanthios Nocturne, who came up with Nicolas' outfit for me - I'm utterly clueless about men's clothes!_

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Paige looked through her closet anxiously. Tonight was the Christmas party, and her heart fluttered at the thought of seeing Nicolas there. She wanted _so _much to look special for him. But all her dresses were so plain!

She went through every frock she had, holding each one up to herself in front of the mirror. _Maybe this gray one? _No, it made her look even more pale and washed-out than usual. She tried a navy blue one, but made a face when she saw her reflection. _I look like a stuffy old spinster! _she thought in despair.She picked up a brown dress...but it was so dull she couldn't even bring herself to try it on.

With a hopeless sigh, she sat down on the bed, her heart sinking at the thought of all the pretty girls who would be at the party in their beautiful dresses. Her own mother believed firmly that girls shouldn't flaunt themselves and that vanity was a sin. "A girl's true worth is in her moral character and virtue," Mme. Grognon often lectured. "Girls who deck themselves out like peacocks to attract men are only advertising how morally bankrupt they are! They have no virtue or good character to offer a man; all they have to offer are their bodies and their appearance, so that's what they show off. A _proper_ girl should dress modestly at all times."

Paige's dresses were all neat and presentable, but simple and unrevealing, with long sleeves and dark colors. She had never minded before; as shy as she was, she'd been only too happy to stay invisible, fading unnoticed into the background. She had never wanted to attract attention.

But now, as she thought of Nicolas, she found herself wishing fervently that she had a dress like some of the other girls she'd seen around the village -- something bright and gay and flattering. She knew that she herself was plain, with her straight sandy-brown hair and unremarkable features...but at least if she had a pretty dress, she wouldn't look so _utterly _drab, like a gray pigeon among colorful songbirds.

She got up and looked through her meager choices again. Surely there was _one _that wasn't utterly awful?

Her eye fell on a dark forest green dress. Green was at least a _little_ bit festive, wasn't it? Better than brown,at any rate. She put it on and examined herself critically in the mirror. With its high neck and long sleeves, it was far from flirtatious, but it would have to do. _Is there any way I can dress it up? _she wondered.

Suddenly she had an idea. Rummaging in her drawer of sewing scraps, she found some long strips of leftover green fabric from the dress. She tied one around her waist as a sash, and pulled it as tight as she dared, to try to give the shapeless dress at least _some_ semblance of a waistline. The end of the sash, swinging at her side, added a bit of interest too, making the dress a little less plain.

Then she brushed her long hair a hundred strokes to make it shine. That helped a little. But it still fell forward, hiding her face...something that used to make her feel safe, but now she suddenly felt impatient with it. _I want Nicolas to see me tonight – really SEE me, _she thought. She grabbed another scrap of fabric and pulled her hair back off her face, tying the fabric into a big bow that matched the dress. _There, _she thought, pleased with the result. She would never be a beauty, but she looked...pleasant, she thought. Approachable. Not completely invisible.

She straightened her shoulders, looking her reflection squarely in the eye. _I'm ready._

She started down the stairs. But halfway down, she hesitated, suddenly anxious that her mother might disapprove of the changes she'd made to her appearance. Taking a deep breath, she descended, hoping for the best.

Mme. Grognon was in the living room tying on her bonnet, a formidable figure in her matronly dark blue garb. She turned and saw Paige. "Ah, good, you're here. Punctual as always," she said with a smile. She took in Paige's appearance, then nodded approvingly. "Very sensible, tying your hair back that way. Much neater and tidier than having it falling in your face."

"Thank you," Paige said, relieved.

Her father and brother soon came down the stairs, and they were off to the party. Paige's spirits rose as they headed to the tavern, where the festivities were being held. She could barely contain her excitement at the thought of seeing Nicolas again. The air seemed full of promise. Who knew what might happen tonight?

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Meanwhile, at the gunsmith's house, Monsieur Armurier tapped his foot impatiently. "Come on, ladies, it's time to go!"

"Just a minute!" Bunny called down. "We're almost ready!"

Suzette twirled happily in front of the mirror. Her sky-blue dress brought out the blue in her eyes, and the lacy sweetheart neckline called attention to what her mother called her "assets" while at the same time giving an impression of sweetness and innocence. The flouncy, ruffled skirt flared out as she twirled, giving just a tantalizing peek at her shapely legs.

Bunny smiled proudly. "You look lovely, Suzette."

Suzette looked up imploringly at her mother. "Mama, Alain is going to be there...can't I _finally_ go up and talk to him?"

Bunny was shocked. _"No!_ Absolutely not! I've already told you: men quickly lose interest in girls who throw themselves at them! They only want what they can't have – a girl they have to _work _to get."

She adjusted Suzette's neckline as she went on. "I want Alain to notice you tonight...but that's _all_. We need to whet his appetite and leave him hungry for more. That means you have to ignore him _completely!_ Never ever let him see you looking at him! And if he looks at _you, _make sure he always sees you dancing and having fun with _other _boys. I want him to see you as an unattainable vision of beauty: a girl _so_ popular and desirable that boys flock around you like moths to a flame, and he despairs of ever having a chance with you." She smiled, caught up in her schemes. "He'll spend the whole party full of frustration and longing, trying to get near you...and tonight he'll dream about you, hoping that one day he'll finally be able to talk to you, and have the opportunity to prove himself worthy of winning your hand."

Suzette was speechless for several moments, utterly overcome by this incredible vision of herself. "Oh, do you really think so? He'll want me _that _much?"

"Yes...but _only_ if you play your cards right!" Bunny said sternly. "If you let him actually _talk_ to you tonight, you'll destroy the illusion and just seem ordinary, like every other girl!"

Suzette panicked at that thought. Her mother always knew best. "All right," she promised. "I'll do just what you said!" She smiled dreamily. "And then Alain will fall in love with me!"

"That's my girl," Bunny said with a wink.

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Gaston entered the tavern with Belle on his arm and the children following, announcing his arrival with a booming, jovial "Merry Christmas!" to all within earshot. As always, all heads turned at his presence, and all the villagers called cheery greetings back. Belle spied her friends Cecile, Amelie and Monique across the room with their families, and waved to them.

Gaston suddenly noticed something hanging from the ceiling in the center of the room. His eyes lit up. "Look, Belle – mistletoe!" he said enthusiastically. In an instant, he drew her under it and kissed her passionately, sweeping her into a low dramatic dip as he did. Everyone around them whooped, whistled and applauded.

"Gaston!" Belle said, laughing while blushing in embarrassment, although she knew she should be used to this after so many years. "Do you always _have_ to make such a spectacle? Everyone's staring!"

"Let 'em stare," Gaston said with a grin. "They're all just jealous because I'm here with the most beautiful girl in town."

Belle smiled, putting her arms around his neck. "You're such a charmer," she said fondly. "Tell me, will you still sweet-talk me that way when I'm old and wrinkled?"

"Absolutely!" he said immediately. "Because you'll _still _be the most beautiful girl in town. Even when you're 90 and your hair is white, all the young girls will be jealous and _wish_ they looked as good as you."

Belle had to laugh. "Oh, that _definitely_ deserves a kiss!" she said, bestowing one on him. "But I have to say...yes, they _will _be jealous, but it will only be because they don't have husbands nearly as handsome as mine!" She winked.

Gaston grinned, relishing any compliment. "You got that right," he agreed, and kissed her again.

Watching them, Mimi rolled her eyes. "Ugh! Do you guys _have _to do that mushy stuff in public? It's _embarrassing!" _she hissed. "No one else's parents act like that!"

"Their loss, then," Gaston said lightly, still looking into his wife's eyes. The musicians started up a lively tune. "Come on, Belle, let's dance."

"Lead the way, good sir knight," Belle said with a smile, following him.

Little Lili ran after them. "I'm gonna dance too!" she said, trying to turn and twirl gracefully like a ballerina. Then she saw her friend Denis. "Denis! Come dance!" she cried, running over to him and pulling him by the hand.

"Okay," he said agreeably. "Lili, look at this!" He started spinning around in a circle, faster and faster, until he got dizzy and fell down.

Lili forgot about being graceful. "Oh! Let _me_ try it!" She began to spin around too, and he joined her. Both of them spun like tops and fell over dizzily, giggling. "That's fun!" Lili shrieked. "Let's do it again!"

Meanwhile, Georges was smiling as he watched his parents dance. "I think it's _nice_ that Mama and Papa still act so romantic after being married so long," he said to Alain. "I hope when I grow up and get married, that I'll..." He stopped, seeing that Alain wasn't listening, but was staring at something across the room. "What are you looking at?" Georges asked curiously.

"Hm? Oh," Alain said, embarrassed. He gestured with his chin to indicate the direction. "See that girl over there? The one in blue? It's Suzette...we used to go to school with her, remember?" He continued to watch her, a faint smile on his face. "She's really gotten pretty."

Georges smiled. "You should ask her to dance."

Alain was startled. "You think so?" he asked. He bit his lip indecisively. "I don't know...She might not want to..."

Georges stared at him in disbelief. "Since when do _you _worry about the right thing to do? I thought that was _my_ job," he joked. "You're Mr. Calm and Logical. You _always_ know what to do."

Alain grinned sheepishly. "I don't know, it's just...Girls are _different, _somehow. I don't think logic comes into it." He had only recently started becoming interested in the opposite sex, and lately he found himself feeling shy and awkward around them, not knowing what to say.

"Well, I say ask her to dance. If she doesn't want to, she'll just say 'No, thank you," Georges pointed out. "No harm done – that's 'logical,' right?"

"That's true," Alain admitted. He squared his shoulders. "All right. I'll go ask her."

"Good luck!" Georges said.

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Suzette was chatting happily with a gaggle of girlfriends when one of them, Lorraine, suddenly squealed, "Don't look now, girls, but Alain Avenant is coming this way! And he looks even MORE gorgeous than usual!"

"Alain?" Suzette gasped. She risked a surreptitious glance. Sure enough, he was across the room but heading in their direction.

Suzette's heart pounded as she frantically tried to remember everything her mother had said. _Ignore him completely...dance with other boys... _Hastily she sidled up to the nearest boy her age. "Hi, Serge, want to dance with me?" she said breathlessly.

The boy's eyes lit up at his unexpected luck. Suzette was the prettiest girl in town. "Of course!" he said, taking her in his arms.

Suzette tossed her head prettily, allowing her another non-obvious peek. She saw that Alain had stopped walking and was watching her. _Oh, my gosh...he's looking at me! This is my big chance. I HAVE to get it right! _she thought desperately. _What did Mama say? Be lively, be gay, be desirable and popular.._.With a sudden inspiration, she let out a high trill of laughter, as though her partner had just said something unbelievably hilarious.

"What's so funny?" Serge asked, confused.

She put her hand on his shoulder. "Oh, I just remembered something! It's not important," she said looking into his eyes as they danced. His own gaze kept drifting to her chest, but she told herself it didn't matter – it was Alain she wanted.

Each time Alain moved to that part of the room, she made sure to be dancing with a different boy, and whenever he looked her way, she laughed loudly again, hoping to get his attention and show him how lively and fun and popular she was, what a wonderful time she was having while not paying any attention to him at all. It was exhausting work; she couldn't really enjoy herself, because she was so focused on her mission and trying so hard to project the right image.

But to her delight, it had the desired effect. Sneaking quick glimpses, she was thrilled to notice that every time she let out her high trilling laugh, Alain stared at her openly for several seconds.

_It's working! _she thought, her heart soaring, and laughed loudly some more for good measure. _He's definitely noticing me tonight...Mama was right!_

After a few more minutes of dancing, she peeked again...but to her disappointment, Alain was gone. _Oh...he's given up, _she thought sadly. _He saw me with all the other boys and doesn't think he has a chance._

That made her feel bad. Suddenly she wanted to run after him. _If he really wants to talk to me so badly – or maybe even dance with me! – it seems so MEAN to ignore him_, she thought guiltily. _I like him so much...I don't want to make him unhappy... _

But no. Mama had been _very _firm on that point. She could NOT talk to Alain at all tonight, or she would lose any chance she had with him. It seemed so odd to Suzette, ignoring a boy you liked in order to _get _him...but Mama did know everything about men. And her advice _had _gotten Alain to stare at Suzette every time, like he couldn't take his eyes off her. _I just have to be patient and do everything Mama says, _she reminded herself. But every time she thought of the way he'd looked at her, she felt tingly inside. She prayed that Mama would let her talk to him soon!

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"So, what happened?" Georges asked Alain when he returned. "Any luck?"

"Yes, but not the way you'd think," Alain said, still bewildered by what had occurred. He went to the refreshment table and poured himself a glass of punch. "She was busy dancing with other guys, so I didn't get to ask her...but it turned out it was lucky I didn't. Georges, she's so _strange!_ She just kept _laughing _all the time...at nothing! And really loud and shrill too, like a hyena. Every single time I looked over at her, she was bursting into laughter for no reason, like the village idiot." He shook his head in amazement. "Very odd girl. I wonder what's wrong with her? She didn't used to be like that."

"Maybe she has some kind of mental problem," Georges suggested sympathetically.

"Maybe," Alain agreed. "Anyway, whatever it is, I'm glad I _didn't _get a chance to dance with her." He shuddered. "I think I really dodged a bullet there. Oh, look, they're putting out Christmas cookies! Let's get some."

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When Paige entered the tavern with her family, she looked around for Nicolas. Immediately she spied him: he was in the corner, playing harmonica with the little group of musicians. Her heart leaped at the sight of him. He looked _so _charming, wearing a dark green jacket and breeches with a yellow waistcoat, white shirt, and white jabot at his throat. It occurred to her that his jacket was almost the same shade as her own dress. _Maybe that's a good sign, _she thought hopefully.

Following her mother into the main room, she saw Mimi wave cheerily at her from across the room. Paige waved back, then anxiously glanced at her mother to see if she'd noticed. But fortunately, Mme. Grognon had already fallen into conversation with some of the local housewives. Reverend Grognon went over to talk to the men, and Luc raced off to find his friends.

With everyone preoccupied, Paige took the opportunity to surreptitiously move away, heading in the direction of the musicians. If her mother noticed, she would think Paige just wanted to hear the music.

Nicolas caught sight of her and winked, sending a thrill through her. She smiled back at him and gave a little wave with her fingers. When the song finished, the musicians took a break. Nicolas immediately bounded over to her, as exuberant as a puppy.

"Hey, you made it!" he said happily, beaming at her. Paige loved how open and honest he was. There was never any question of how Nicolas felt – all his emotions played out vividly on his expressive face. _He'd be a terrible card player,_ she thought in amusement. "Wow, you look _great!"_ he went on. "I like your hair that way. And that green looks really pretty on you!"

Paige blushed and ducked her head modestly. She wasn't used to compliments...and this wasn't a compliment from just anyone, it was _Nicolas._ He actually thought she looked pretty! "Thank you," she said shyly.

"And hey, look – we match!" he added, pointing at his jacket. He grinned. "That's gotta mean something, right?"

"I was thinking that too," Paige admitted, smiling.

"Are you thirsty?" Nicolas asked solicitously. "Let me get you a drink." He went to the table and came back with two glasses of punch. "I'm parched myself – all that harmonica blowing really dries out my throat."

"You sounded wonderful up there," Paige offered. "You've gotten really good at it! The harmonica blended so well with the other instruments."

"Thanks. I've been practicing a lot lately - I didn't want people to run out of here holding their ears!" he joked. He kept looking at her, as though he couldn't get enough of her. "I'm so glad you came. I kept looking at the door whenever anyone new came in, hoping it was you. To be honest, I've been thinking about you all week," he admitted shyly.

"Really?" she said, unbelievably flattered.

"Yeah. I kept seeing things that make me think of you, or remembering things I wanted to tell you...Like the other day, Monsieur Liseur came by to lend me a book – it had some stories he thought I'd like. He knows I always like a good tall tale, the crazier the better. So I was reading them, and they were so funny, and I kept thinking, 'Paige would love these stories! I can't wait to tell her.'"

Paige blushed. _I can't believe he's been thinking about me! _She was so happy, she felt like she was floating on air. Trying to cover her excitement, she asked, "What were the stories about?"

"Well, one was about a guy called Micromégas who comes from a planet where everyone is 120,000 feet tall. Then he goes to Saturn, where the people are 'only' 6,000 feet high, and he becomes friendly with a guy there and tells him he's nice -- even though he's a dwarf!" Nicolas laughed. "And then they both come to Earth, but they're _so_ huge they have to look through a microscope to even see the people at all."

Paige laughed too, enjoying the story. She loved to hear Nicolas talk – he was so enthusiastic and animated, gesturing as he spoke. "That does sound funny!" She reflected a moment. "Hmm, that makes me think...for all we know, there could be little tiny people _here,_ tinier than insects, so small that we can't even see them. They could have their own cities and everything, and we'd never know!"

Nicolas's eyes widened. "Hey, you're right!" he said appreciatively. "That's really clever, Paige. See, I _knew_ you'd be fun to talk about this with! That's what I like about these imaginative kind of stories...they make you see things another way, you know?"

_That's why I like talking to YOU, _Paige thought dreamily. _You open up my eyes... _But she couldn't bring herself to say _that. _"What other stories did you read?" she asked, eager to hear more.

"Oh, there was another really funny one, called 'Plato's Dream'..."

Meanwhile, Mme. Grognon had finished her conversation. Turning around, she was startled to see Paige all the way across the room, deep in conversation with a young man Mme. Grognon didn't know. That was unexpected; Paige was usually too shy to talk to anyone, and Mme. Grognon had never seen a boy show an interest in her before.

_Well, she IS 16, certainly of courtship age_...Mme. Grognon mused to herself. _I've been remiss in my duties; it really is high time I started investigating marriage prospects for her in this town. _

She headed over to the pair, determined to learn exactly who this boy was and judge whether or not he was the kind of young man she might consider worthy of courting her daughter: someone respectable, ethical, responsible, mature and God-fearing, with good financial prospects.

But as she reached the pair and overheard what the boy was telling her impressionble daughter, she paled in shock. The boy was saying, "There was this immortal being, a powerful god named Demiurgos, and he created all these smaller gods and told them all to make planets. So one of them made Earth, and he was _so _proud of himself, showing it off to the others...but then they all laughed at him and started pointing out all the mistakes he'd made! Like some parts of Earth are scorching hot, and others are covered with ice, and there are so many diseases that the people keep dropping dead, and the ones who live end up killing each other for silly reasons anyway. So the god was very embarrassed that he did such a bad job." He laughed.

"Young man! What blasphemy is this?" Mme. Grognon interrupted, scandalized. "There is only _one_ God, our Almighty Lord! As the Bible says, 'Thou shalt have no other gods before me!' _He _created Earth, in His infinite wisdom. And I assure you, He does NOT make mistakes!"

Nicolas nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden scolding from out of the blue. He turned quickly. "Oh...hello, madame," he said hastily. "Sorry, I didn't mean to offend you! It was just a story. I thought it was funny."

"There is nothing funny about mocking our Lord," Mme. Grognon said sternly. "Where on earth did you hear such trash?"

"It was in a book I read, by a writer called Voltaire," Nicolas explained.

_"Voltaire!"_ Mme. Grognon was even more horrified. "Why, he's one of those horrid radicals in Paris, the ones who are trying use their writing to turn people against the Church! The devil's minions, my father called them!"

Nicolas stood there dazed by the attack, clearly wondering who this woman was and why she was screaming at him. Paige wanted to sink into the floor in mortification. Mme. Grognon continued to glare furiously at Nicolas. The three of them stood there in awkward silence until Paige couldn't bear it any longer. "Nicolas...this is my mother, Mme. Grognon," she stammered.

"Your _mother?"_ Nicolas said, turning pale.

"Mother," Paige pressed on nervously, desperately trying to defuse the situation, "this is Nicolas Vitrier, the glassblower's son. He made those beautiful glasses I bought the other week – weren't they lovely?"

"They were nice enough," Mme. Grognon said, not giving an inch. "But the fact that this young man can blow glass doesn't give him the right to speak against our Lord." She pulled herself up to her full intimidating height, looking down her nose at him. "My advice to you, young man, is to focus on your work and not get involved with such radical notions. If you _must _read, then read your Bible. That's the _only_ book you need." Without waiting for an answer, she took Paige's arm. "Come, Paige, let's go find your father." She pulled Paige away, muttering under her breath. "First it was that uppity schoolmistress and her hellion of a daughter...now we have blasphemous heathens for glassblowers...Your father certainly has his work cut out for him in _this_ town!"

Paige followed miserably. She wanted to die. She couldn't believe how rude her mother had been to Nicolas! She had been looking forward to this night _so_ much...but now everything was ruined. Heathen? Her mother would _never _allow her to talk to Nicolas after this. Not that he would even _want _anything to do with her anymore, after her mother had been so awful to him...Her vision blurred with tears.

"The _nerve_ of that young man! Thank goodness I was here to get you away from him!" Mme. Grognon went on. "Listen to me, Paige. I do realize that it was very awkward for you, being cornered by that awful pagan, and I know we've always raised you to be polite. But in future, if anyone ever tries to say such blasphemous things to you again, you just say 'Excuse me' and walk away. Don't worry about seeming rude. You don't have to put up with that kind of behavior."

Paige nodded unhappily, looking down at the floor.

Mme. Grognon paused, debating whether to say more. She decided it was necessary. "Paige, dear..." she went on in a kinder tone. "You've led a very sheltered life, and your father and I have always tried to protect you. But you're growing up. That means that, for better or worse, boys are going to start paying attention to you...and some of them will be the _wrong_ boys. It's important to be careful and keep your wits about you. You don't have the experience or the wisdom to judge a person's character like I do." She sighed. "There are so many dangers and pitfalls for young girls these days! Men start paying attention to them, turning their heads with flattery and compliments, and all too often, they fall in with unsuitable people and get into trouble." Mme. Grognon tut-tutted at the thought. "But I'm just so thankful _you're _such a good, modest, sensible girl, Paige. We raised you right," she added proudly. "I know I never have to worry about _you_ doing the wrong thing."

Paige squirmed, feeling guilty. _She wouldn't think I was such a "good girl" if she knew I've been dropping by the glassblowing shop to visit Nicolas as often as I can, _she thought, unable to meet her mother's eyes.

But Mme. Grognon didn't notice Paige's discomfort. She patted Paige's hand maternally and went on, "And when it comes to finding a husband, _you_ don't have to worry either, dear. Your father and I have everything under control. We'll make sure to find the right man for you: a fine, respectable, moral, upstanding man who makes a good living. Someone that we can trust to provide for you and take care of you, just as _we_ always have."

Paige's insides turned to ice at the thought of marrying a "respectable" man chosen by her mother – spending the rest of her life with some cold, self-righteous stranger...never talking to Nicolas again...not that she even had a _chance _with Nicolas, not after what had happened tonight...Paige felt sick to her stomach. It suddenly felt like her life was over before it had even begun.

"Now, where _has _your father gotten to? Oh, there he is, talking to the butcher! Come along now."

"Mother?" Paige implored. "I...I don't feel very well. Can we go home now?"

Her mother looked at her with concern. "You do look very pale, I must say...All that ungodly talk must have upset you. You've always been very sensitive. All right, dear, we'll tell your father we have to leave. I've talked to everyone I needed to anyway."

Paige kept her head down as they left. She was aware of Nicolas watching as they exited, but couldn't bear to look at him. Outside, she was grateful for the cold winter air on her skin after the overheated tavern.

Her father looked over at her. "How are you feeling, Paige?" he asked sympathetically. "Your mother said you're poorly."

"I'll be all right," Paige said quietly. "I just need to lie down." As soon as they got home, she ran to her room, closed the door, and threw herself on the bed, her heart breaking, sobbing hopelessly into her pillow.

O o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

Suzette was practically dancing all the way home, bubbling over with happiness at how well the evening had gone. As soon as they got home, she pulled her mother into her room and closed the door so her father wouldn't hear. She knew her mother preferred to talk about Alain in private.

Bunny was just as eager for girl talk as her daughter. "Oh, honey, you were _fabulous!" _she said, hugging Suzette. "Every time I looked over at you, you were dancing and laughing, so lively and pretty and popular...you looked positively _radiant!" _

"Thanks, Mama, But oh, wait till you hear!" Suzette was bursting with the news. "Mama, what you said...it _worked! _Alain kept coming over and looking at me! I mean, really _staring,_ not even trying to hide it! It was like he couldn't take his _eyes_ off me!"

"Perfect!" crowed Bunny, clapping her hands in delight. "Oh, sweetie, you're your mama's daughter, all right! I knew you had it in you! You've got him on the hook...now all we have to do is reel him in!"

"How? Do I finally get to talk to him?" Suzette said hopefully.

"Not yet, sweetheart. Right now he's smitten, thinking of that beautiful, amazing girl he couldn't even get close enough to talk to. Let him spend the next couple of months dreaming of you, longing to meet you. You keep avoiding him, just as you've been doing...He'll start searching the town for you, living for the moments he can get even a glimpse of you," Bunny promised. "He'll become more and more frustrated, more and more determined to meet you...and then, when he can't stand it anymore, when he's about to burst from desire, _then _your father will invite him for dinner." She smiled triumphantly. "And when he sees you that night, his dream girl in the flesh, more beautiful than he could ever imagine, dressed like a goddess...well, he won't know what hit him!"

"And _then _I can talk to him?" Suzette persisted.

Bunny smiled. "Yes. And don't worry, I'll coach you on what to say. When that night comes, everything has to be _perfect."_

"And then he'll marry me!" Suzette said happily. "Oh, won't that be _wonderful?"_

"Yes, it will," Bunny agreed, a gleam in her eye. "You'll have Alain for your husband; make no mistake about that!" She stood up and kissed Suzette's forehead, then walked to the door. "Well, you'd better get to bed; a girl needs her beauty sleep. Good night, honey. Sweet dreams!"

"Good night, Mama. Thank you so much for everything!" Suzette knew she could never have gotten this far on her own. Mama was so clever! She changed into her nightgown, blew out the candle, and happily got into bed, floating off into glorious visions of her future wedding to Alain Avenant...the man of her dreams.


	18. We Wish You A Merry Christmas

_Author's note: Once again, I sincerely apologize for taking so long to update!_

On Christmas morning at the Avenent house, Mimi and Lili were up at the crack of dawn, eager to open their presents. "I'll wake up Mama and Papa! You get the boys!" said Mimi, jumping up and running toward their parents' room.

"Okay!" said Lili, scampering after her into the hallway. She ran into the boys' room and pulled on Alain's arm. "Alain! Georges! Wake up! It's Christmas! How can you still be asleep?"

Alain blinked and smiled. "All right, we're coming." He looked over at Georges, who was yawning and stretching. "Were we ever like that?"

Georges laughed. "Oh, yes. Remember that Christmas when Grandpa made us that little mechanical horse? We were so excited--"

"Talk later!" Lili implored. "We have to get downstairs to get our presents!"

The boys laughed and got dressed quickly. They could hear Mimi in the other room, making enough noise to wake the dead, followed by their father's booming voice and their mother's more melodic one, both sounding amused.

As they raced downstairs, Lili squealed at the sight of the presents under the tree. "Oh, can I go first! Please?" she begged. "I don't think I can wait one more second!"

Mimi was about to insist that _she _go first. But then she remembered that she was trying hard to be on her best behavior. _And anyway, Lili's the baby, _she thought in a superior way. "Okay, Lili, you can go first. I know it's really hard for little kids like you to wait," she said, feeling very grown up.

Belle smiled. "That's very nice of you, Mimi," she said, and Mimi beamed. "Lili, there are two presents for you. See if you can find the ones with your name on them." Lili scrambled under the tree and started looking through all the presents to find ones with her name. "Okay...This one has an A, so that's not mine...this one starts with G, so that's not mine..."

"Do you need help?" Mimi asked, impatient to get to _her _presents. She was trying to be nice, but the slowpoke was gonna take all _day!_

"No, I can do it!" Lili insisted, continuing to sift through presents. Finally she triumphantly held up two packages. "There!" she said proudly. "L-I-L-I! That's me!" She opened the first to reveal a large book of fairy tales, illustrated with gorgeous pictures of princesses, princes, noble steeds and shining castles. "A princess book! Yay! Thanks Mama, thanks Papa!" she dutifully added as she flipped through the pages. She held up the book. "Read me a story, Mama?"

"At bedtime I will," Belle promised.

"Okay!" Lili looked at the other present and touched it, trying to figure out what it was. The package was soft and shapeless; she couldn't imagine what was in it. She ripped the paper off. "Ohhhhh..." It was a royal purple velvet dress with gold embroidery around the neckline, cuffs and hem. "It's so _fancy!_ Like a real princess dress!"

"That's the idea," Gaston said with a grin.

"Can I put it on right now?" Lili asked eagerly.

"Of course!" Gaston said jovially. "What better occasion for fancy clothes than Christmas?" Lili ran to put on the dress.

Belle smiled indulgently, shaking her head. "I _still_ say it's impractical," she said to her husband. "Where on earth is she ever going to wear something like that?"

"Wherever she wants!" Gaston replied. "Look how happy she is. That's all that matters."

While Lili ran to put on her dress, Alain had found his presents – an impressively stocked tool box and a manual on advanced mechanics – while George was more than happy to find a book on poetry.

"It's not just a regular poetry book; it's a book about the _history_ of poetry," Belle explained. "It tells you about all the different styles of poetry there are, the different patterns and rules for each one. I thought it might help you in your writing."

"Wow, thanks!" Georges said enthusiastically, flipping through the book. "This is _great!_ I didn't know there were so many kinds of poems! I'd love to try to write some of these."

Gaston smiled, but he couldn't help feeling a bit uneasy. Of course he was glad to see his son happy on Christmas...but did Belle _have _to encourage Georges to write poetry so much? Reading itself was fine, and if Belle had gotten Georges a book of heroic adventure stories, Gaston would have been all for it. But he just couldn't help feeling that there was something _unmanly_ about a boy writing poetry about rainbows and such. He hadn't said anything to Georges about it, hoping it was just a phase he would outgrow on his own. But now Belle was giving him books to teach him how to do it even _more! _

Then Gaston noticed the author's name, written on the book. He frowned. "Hervé Liseur wrote that book?"

Belle nodded. "It's a textbook they use in poetry classes at his university," she explained.

_Oh, even better, _Gaston thought. Talk about the last person he wanted a son of his to emulate!

But it was Christmas, and Gaston didn't want to mar the happy family scene by complaining. _Anyway, MY present will get his mind back on the right track, _he thought confidently. "Georges, there's another present for you too!" he said, pointing.

Georges looked up, interested. "Really? What?"

Grinning, Gaston handed him a long wrapped package. Georges unwrapped it to reveal a brand-new, shiny rifle. "Oh..." he said, taken aback. He tried to smile. "That's...great, Papa. It looks like a really nice one."

"It is," Gaston said proudly. "In fact, it was made by the best gunsmith around: your brother!"

Georges looked at Alain, who gave him a sheepish smile and apologetic shrug, knowing how his brother really felt about hunting. "Yeah, Pa came into the shop and gave us an order."

"Well...thanks, Papa. That was really nice of you," Georges said, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. His father obviously wasn't ever going to give up on the idea of Georges being a hunter. How long could he keep up this charade?

"I can't wait to take you out hunting with such a fine rifle so you can try it out!" Gaston went on enthusiastically. "It's the latest model. Feel how light it is? It allows for greater accuracy in aiming _and _it shoots a farther distance, too. It even reloads faster. Why, with a fine rifle like that, I bet you'll be bagging enough game to feed the whole family for the next three months!"

Belle, watching, wished Gaston wouldn't say things like that. She knew he _meant_ well, but Georges was so sensitive: any mention of bagging game probably made him feel like a failure, because he hadn't gotten anything yet. No wonder he looked so uncomfortable. She'd have to talk to Gaston about that, she thought.

"It's really...great, Papa," Georges said, pretending to admire the firearm. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the poetry book he'd left on the table, and felt wistful. _Maybe after dinner I'll get some time to read it,_ he thought hopefully.

Meanwhile, Mimi was staring longingly at the rifle. "Can I look at it?" He handed it to her, and she examined it from all angles. "Wow...Oh, Georges, you are so _lucky!" _she sighed enviously. "I'd do _anything_ to get a rifle like that!_"_

Gaston said innocently, "Really? Anything?" He exchanged a knowing glance with Belle, who smiled. "Would you listen to your mother, and focus on your schoolwork, and do all your chores without being told?"

"Of course!" Mimi said, still admiring the rifle.

"Well, in that case..." He gestured at another package under the tree.

Mimi stared at him. Could it be...? Eagerly she scrambled to get to the package and ripped off the paper as fast as she could. Then she let out an ear-piercing shriek of joy as she revealed a rifle identical to Georges'. "Oh, WOW! I don't _believe_ it!" Joyfully she flung herself at Gaston and gave him a big bear hug. "Thank you so much!!! I love you Papa!"

Gaston hugged her back, but added warningly, "There are some rules that go with that rifle. The main one being that you are _not_ to use it, or even take it out and _look_ at it, unless I'm there. You understand? It's not a toy."

Mimi nodded vigorously. "I promise!" She held it up and looked along the sights, pretending to take aim. "Pow!"

Then Belle added, "Mimi, I have another present for you too." She held it out to her daughter.

Mimi looked up, interested, but then frowned when she saw the telltale shape of the package. "Oh, Mama, please, NOT a book!"

"This one is different," Belle persisted. "Look, I'll show you..."

Gaston suppressed a smile. Belle just would _not _give up the hope that Mimi would somehow grow to love books like she did. It was obvious to Gaston that it wasn't going to happen; Mimi loved action, not sitting still and reading. She was so much like him at the same age.

Still, that didn't mean she should be rude to her mother. "Now, Mimi," he admonished, "your mother was nice enough to get you a present. You should at least look at it."

Mimi sighed. "Okay. What is it?"

Belle opened the package and showed her the book. "Look – it's all about tracking!" she said encouragingly, trying to drum up enthusiasm. "It has pictures of all the different kind of animal tracks."

Mimi took the book and looked at it skeptically. "But Papa's already teaching me that stuff."

"I know," Belle acknowledged. "But this way, if Papa isn't home, or if it's a rainy day and you're stuck in the house, you can still practice your hunting. You can look at the pictures of the tracks and test yourself to see if you can identify them without looking at the names."

Mimi looked marginally more interested. "Oh...well, I guess that could work. Thanks, Mama."

There was a knock at the door. Gaston went to answer it. "Merry Christmas, Maurice!" he said, ushering in his father-in-law.

"Merry Christmas, everyone!" Maurice said, hugging the children.

After more presents were exchanged with Maurice, Belle turned to her husband and smiled shyly. "Now for your present—"

"Wait!" Gaston said eagerly, looking like he couldn't contain himself. "Let me go first! I can't wait to show you this – you'll _love_ it." He ran out of the room to get whatever it was. Belle had to laugh. Gaston always loved surprises. That was one of the things she loved most about him – he was so full of energy and enthusiasm and sheer _j__oie de vivre. _

He came back with something _enormous_, flat and square, wrapped in brown paper. Belle was baffled. "I can't even _guess_ what that is," she admitted.

Gaston grinned proudly. "Remember when Alain first told us about his job offer at the gunsmith? And you said the kids were growing up too fast, and you wished you could just stop time?"

Belle nodded, still mystified, and joked, "Did my father invent a time machine?"

"Well...it's not as amazing as _that," _Gaston admitted. "But go ahead – open it and see!"

Belle took off the wrapper, and her eyes widened when she saw the huge, life-size portrait. It showed Gaston sitting in a chair with an empty chair beside him. The four children and Maurice were grouped around the two chairs, framing them. "You go here," Gaston said, pointing to the empty chair. "I couldn't figure out a way to get you in without ruining the surprise, so I told the painter we'll come back after Christmas so you can pose for him and he can paint you into the picture. But see? Now, even when the kids grow up and move out, you can always look at this picture and remember how they were right now," he finished proudly.

"Oh, Gaston..." Belle was unbelievably touched. "It's wonderful! It's the most thoughtful present I've ever gotten." She kissed her husband, who looked pleased that his present was a success.

"I'm glad you like it. So...you said you have something for me?"

Belle was suddenly overcome with embarrassment. All she had for him was the cap she had knitted for him, but even with all the advice of Monique and her sewing circle friends, it wasn't very good. Next to this magnificent, expensive, professional portrait, it would look like a pathetic joke. She hoped he wouldn't be insulted.

"Well...I do have a present for you...but I'm afraid it's not very good," she admitted. "After this..." She gestured at the portrait. "To be honest, I'm not sure if I should even give it to you. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but now..."

"Now you've got me curious, so you'd _better _give it to me," Gaston said, smiling. "I'm sure it's great, no matter what it is."

"You may not think so when you see it," Belle warned ruefully. She went and got the wrapped cap. "Before you open it, I'd better explain. I wanted to give you something special...a gift from the heart. So I thought, instead of just going to a store and buying something, I would make it myself, with my own two hands. I thought it would mean more that way." She shrugged. But, well...I tried my best, really I did, and I worked on it for months, but it didn't come out as well as I'd hoped." She handed it over to him self-consciously. "But it's the thought that counts, right?" she added hopefully.

Gaston opened the package and held up the red knitted cap. In the light, it looked even worse than Belle had thought. The stitches were large, clearly visible, and uneven, and the cap itself was even a little lopsided.

"You really made this yourself?" Gaston asked in surprise.

Belle nodded. "I'm not the best at knitting," she said apologetically. "But I could go buy you something else tomorrow..."

Gaston smiled. "No, I _love_ it!" he said sincerely. He knew how much she disliked domestic chores. He was tickled that she would actually spend months struggling to knit him a handmade cap. It was like...well, it was like him trying to memorize a long poem with big words. "That was really sweet of you." He gave her a kiss. Then he grinned. "My little wife," he teased. "I can just _picture _you sitting there, struggling over those knitting needles, letting out a few choice words when you had trouble—"

"That's just how it was," Belle said with a laugh. She kissed him. "I'm so relieved that you like it. Just don't expect me to ever do it again!" She smiled. "And don't feel like you have to actually wear it."

"Of course I'll wear it," Gaston said, going to the door and hanging it on a hook next to his overcoat. "You made it for me all by yourself. I'll be _proud _to wear it!"

"Oh, that definitely deserves another kiss!" Belle teased. "Sometimes you say just the right thing."

Mimi looked up. "Oh, come on, no _kissing!"_ she complained. "Enough with the mushy stuff. Can't we just eat now? I'm starving!"

Belle smiled. "All right. Let's sit down at the table."

After they were seated, said grace and began eating, Maurice spoke up. "I was waiting for just the right moment to tell you all this. I have some big news!"

"Oh, what is it, Papa?" Belle asked, passing the potatoes to Gaston.

"I received a letter yesterday telling me that Le Société des Inventeurs in Paris is honoring me with an award!" Maurice announced proudly. "They're going to present it to me at a big ceremony at their annual conference in September."

"Grandpa, that's _great!"_ Alain said enthusiastically. "It's about time too. You're the best inventor in the world."

"I'm so proud of you," Belle said. "It's so wonderful to think how far we've come. Remember when we first moved here? No one appreciated your inventions then. Now you're getting prestigious awards!" She smiled affectionately at him. "Even all those years ago, I always knew someday day you'd be a world-famous inventor."

"Congratulations, Maurice," Gaston said. "Well, kids, I guess that means we're going to Paris! We have to see Grandpa get his award."

Belle was thrilled. "Oh, that will be lovely! We haven't been to Paris in years!"

Gaston held up his glass in a toast. "To Maurice!" They all clinked glasses.

Belle looked around happily at her family, everyone she loved all together, and said blissfully. "This has been the best Christmas ever."

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

_This is the worst Christmas ever, _Paige thought on Christmas morning. The evening before, Christmas Eve, had passed in a dull blur. Lost in a haze of misery, thinking about Nicolas, she was barely aware of the church service and the Christmas carols. Her mind kept replaying the horrible scene from the party: her mother screaming at Nicolas, calling him those awful names, the pale stunned look on his face. Everything had been going so wonderfully, but now it was all ruined. She was ashamed to even _face _him again – not that he'd even _want _to be involved with her now, with a mother like that...

Full of gloomy thoughts, she sat in the living room on Christmas morning, watching unenthusiastically as her brother Luc opened his presents and exclaimed over them.

Her father said in concern, "Paige, you haven't even looked at your present yet. Is something wrong?"

Paige forced a smile. "No, I'm all right. I'm sorry, Father, I'll look at it now." She already knew it would be something practical and not very interesting, but it was rude not to be appreciative. She looked under the tree for a present with her name on it and found a big box.

Her father watched, smiling, as she opened it. Paige gasped. Inside was a dress far prettier than anything she currently owned. Of course it was was modestly cut, with a long skirt, but it was a bright, sunshiny yellow, with a waist cincher to give it shape and a cheery matching hair bow. She touched it, marvelling at the softness of the fabric. It looked like...like a _normal _dress, pretty and gay, like any girl in the village might have.

"Oh, Father...it's _beautiful!" _Paige exclaimed. Oh, if _Nicolas_ could see her in this dress! Her face glowed with the thrill of that idea. He would _love _it, she knew.

But then she remembered. There would be no more Nicolas. She sighed, a dull ache inside her at that thought.

But she managed to smile warmly as she looked up at her father. It really was kind and thoughtful of him. "Thank you so much, Father. It's a wonderful gift."

"I'm glad you like it," Rev. Grognon said, beaming.

Mme. Grognon frowned at her husband. "It's very _bright,_ isn't it?" she said with a hint of disapproval.

Rev. Grognon sighed wearily. "Yes, Mathilde. It's bright," he said patiently. "That's the _point. _She's a young girl – why should she dress like an elderly widow? There's nothing immoral about wearing a cheerful color, for heaven's sake! I noticed at the Christmas party, most of the girls were wearing colorful dresses. So I thought she might like to have one like that."

Mme. Grognon was about to reply...but then paused as a thought struck her. Hmm...Maybe this dress _was _a good idea. After all, she was planning to start scouting around for a likely suitor for Paige as soon as Christmas was over. And as much as she hated to admit it, there was no denying that men would be men – they all liked a pretty girl, no matter how moral they were. If she wanted to make a match for Paige, it made sense to present her as well as possible. A pretty dress might be just the thing to clinch the deal.

"You're right, dear," she said contritely, causing both her husband and her daughter to stare at her in amazement. She wasn't usually one to back down so easily. "It's a very nice dress. I'm sure it will look lovely on Paige."

"Good!" Rev. Grognon said approvingly. "I'm glad that's settled. Paige, go put the dress away, and then we'll sit down to dinner."

That night, after Luc and Paige had gone to bed, Rev. Grognon sat by the fire smoking a pipe while his wife knitted in the rocking chair. "That was a nice Christmas, wasn't it?" he said contentedly. "I'm so glad Paige liked the dress – it was good to see her smile. I've been a little worried about her, to be honest. She's been so quiet and withdrawn the past few days, even more than usual."

"Well, I'm not surprised," said Mme. Grognon, seeing her opportunity. "She's of courtship age, after all, and not a suitor in sight. I'm sure that's what's on her mind: wondering about her marriage prospects."

"Already?" Rev. Grognon said, startled. "Why, she's just a child!"

"To _you,_ perhaps, being her father," Mme. Grognon pointed out. "But the fact is, Eugene, she's 16 years old -- nearly a woman. And as her parents, it is our responsibility to find a suitable husband for her."

"Well...that's true..." Rev. Grognon conceded. It was hard for him to realize that his little girl was growing up, but Mathilde did know more about women's matters than he did...

"To tell you the truth, I'm worried about her too," Mme. Grognon went on. "I didn't tell you this before, but at the Christmas party, she got cornered by an _awful _boy, who was telling her the most horrid, blasphemous things!"

Rev. Grognon was alarmed, all his protective instincts aroused. "What?"

Mme. Grognon nodded. "He was going on and on in the most offensive way, mocking our Lord! And poor Paige was too polite and flustered to know how to get out of it. Fortunately, I saw what was happening, gave him a stern talking-to, and got her away from him. But it made me realize how vulnerable she is at this age, prey to attention from all kinds of unsuitable men. We need to protect her and look out for her interests." Mme. Grognon nodded decisively. "That's why I think the best thing we can do is get her settled and married off to a good, decent, moral man. Once she's married, she won't have to worry about anyone bothering her – and if anyone does, she'll have a husband to protect her."

Rev. Grognon reflected on that. "You do make sense," he had to admit. As Paige's father, he certainly wanted to fulfill his responsibilities and do right by her. _She's such a good, sweet girl_, he thought. _She deserves to be happy._ He thought of how quiet and sad Paige had looked recently. _Mathilde must be right; she's anxious about her future._ Paige was too shy and timid to attract a suitor on her own, and too unassertive to even speak up and ask her parents about it straight out. So instead, she was just silently worrying about whether she would ever have a husband, or if she was fated to become an old maid. _Poor Paige, _he thought.

"You're right," he said, nodding. "We should start looking into it. Find a nice, kind man who can appreciate her."

"Good. I'm glad we agree," Mme. Grognon said briskly. "After Christmas, I intend to start making inquiries about the bachelors in town, to see who the likely prospects are."

Rev. Grognon had to smile at that. Mathilde might have her flaws, but she was certainly thorough. When she put her mind to a project, there was no stopping her. She would have all the information on every bachelor in town before the week was out, he was sure. "All right. Find out what you can," he said, adding warningly, "But don't go rushing off and getting her engaged just like that! Whoever she marries has to meet _my_ approval first, and believe me, I have very high standards. I'll have a lot of questions to ask a young man before I let him take my daughter away from me!"

"Of course, dear. As her father, you _should _interrogate all potential suitors," Mme. Grognon said approvingly. She put down her knitting. "Well, it's getting late. I'm going to turn in." Her husband agreed, and they went upstairs, Mme. Grognon's mind racing with plans for her daughter's future.

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

At church on Sunday, Paige kept her head down the whole time. Part of her wanted to know if Nicolas was there, but she was so mortified at the thought of what he must think of her family, she couldn't even bring herself to look. Besides, with her mother right beside her, there was no way she could be seen talking to him – it would just cause another horrible scene. She shuddered at the thought.

After the service, Mme. Grognon strolled over to Bambi, Bubbles, and Bunny. "Ladies, there's a little matter I need your advice on. I wonder if I might come over for tea this afternoon?"

"Of course, Mathilde!" Bambi said, intrigued to find out what Mme. Grognon might want. "Come by my place at 2:00."

"Lovely," Mme. Grognon said with a smile.

"I'll be there too!" Bubbles said eagerly.

Bunny bowed out regretfully, claiming she had plans. Although she was dying of curiosity to hear all the gossip, she knew all too well that Mme. Grognon disliked Belle. If Belle saw Bunny being chummy with the minister's wife, it might hurt the "relationship" Bunny was so carefully cultivating with Belle. She couldn't take the risk. But the other two were more than eager to find out what was on Mme. Grognon's mind.

That afternoon, sitting on Bambi's sofa sipping tea, Mme. Grognon couldn't help remarking, "Bambi, dear...don't you think that bodice of yours is far too low-cut? You really should dress more modestly! With an outfit like that, you're certain to give men sinful thoughts."

_That's the idea, _Bambi thought smugly. Married or not, she still enjoyed the flattering glances of the village men. But she just looked at Mme. Grognon wide-eyed and said innocently, "But Mathilde, my husband _likes _it when I dress like this! It makes him happy. And isn't that what being a wife is all about? Doing things to make your husband happy?"

"Well, yes, to a point..." Mme. Grognon said, thrown off for a moment. But she rallied quickly, adding, "But there's such a thing as going _too_ far, my dear. It's certainly not fair for a husband to expect his wife to dress like a common hussy and compromise her reputation just for his pleasure—"

Bubbles interrupted. "Mathilde, didn't you say you wanted to ask our advice about something?"

"Oh, yes," Mme. Grognon said, reminded of the reason for her visit. She leaned forward confidentially, although there was no one around to hear. "I do hope you can advise me. You two always seem to be the most well-informed on everyone and everything in town."

"We certainly are!" agreed Bubbles proudly. Gossip was their life – well, that along with primping, flirting and shopping.

"Well, as you know, my daughter Paige is 16 now, and I want to make sure she's well set up in life. So I feel that it's time to begin looking into matrimonial options for her. Unfortunately, we're still fairly new to the village, so I don't have as clear a picture of the eligible bachelors here as I did in our old town," Mme. Grognon explained. "I had hoped you might be able to enlighten me."

"Oh, of _course!"_ said Bambi, delighted to be asked. What could be more fun than comparing the advantages and disadvantages of different boys? She and Bubbles were more than happy to share what they knew, since neither of them currently had girls of marriageable age to compete with Paige for the available single men. Bambi's two daughters, Fantine and Justine (the girls who teased Mimi for acting like a boy) were only 9 and 8 respectively, and her son Valentin (the one who always beat Lefou's son Denis at races) was only 6. Bubbles, meanwhile, had only boys, aged 7 to 13. Neither of them would be affected by whom Paige married, so it was fun for them to get involved in picking out her future husband.

"Hmm..." Bambi said thoughtfully. "You said Paige is 16, so we're looking at boys age 16 to 21 or so..." She began to count them off on her fingers. "Let's see. There's Jean-Pierre Sauvetier, the cobbler's son...and Nicolas Vitrier, the glassblower's son—"

Mme. Grognon frowned in distaste at the mention of Nicolas. "Who else?"

"There's also Yves Chapelier, who works at his father's hat shop – but between you and me, he's, well, not the most 'manly' boy around," Bambi said.

Bubbles nodded knowingly. "I know what you mean! I went to buy a hat the other day, and Yves just seemed _far_ too interested in helping me coordinate my outfit for a boy, if you ask me. Although he _is _very good at what he does. He certainly knows his fashion."

"Ah, but Gregoire Peu, the tanner's son...now, _he's _certainly manly!" Bambi added. "And _very_ good-looking, too. Paige might like him. He's a bit wild, though. But I'm sure he'll grow out of it."

Mme. Grognon made a mental note of all the names and comments. "It's just _so _difficult to know how a boy will turn out, isn't it?" she said, sighing as she reached for a biscuit. "They're so immature. And even the ones who _seem _all right are still unproven. A young man could be in line to inherit his father's business, and seem like a very good prospect...but then when he takes it over, he's utterly incompetent and runs it into the ground! And a boy with strict parents may toe the line while under his parents' roof, but then, once he moves out, the freedom might go to his head and he turns out to be a wastrel, frittering away all his money, or even gambling, or turning to drink or loose women...There's just so much _risk_ involved in choosing a husband!"

Bubbles nodded. "That's true, but what can you do? You just pick the likeliest one you can and hope for the best."

Mme. Grognon took another sip of tea. "To be perfectly honest, I've always felt that for a young girl, it's best to marry an _older _man – one who's already well-established in his profession, who's _proven_ to be respectable and trustworthy and a good provider. I don't suppose there are any men like that in this town?"

"Well..." Bambi pondered the question. "The problem with older men is that by the time they _get _older, they're usually already married, if they're any good."

"Oh! I know!" Bubbles suddenly squealed. "Monsieur Meunier!"

"YES!" Bambi agreed, her eyes widening in realization. "He'd be _perfect!"_

"Oh?" said Mme. Grognon with interest. "The town miller? Do tell."

"He's 28 years old and very successful," Bubbles explained. "He makes a _very _good living – he's got lots of money and his house is one of the biggest in town. He's pretty important in the village too: he's on the town council and everything. And his wife died last year, so he's available! They never had any children, so he has plenty of money saved up."

"Not bad-looking either," Bambi mused. "He still has all his hair, isn't going gray or anything...and he's pretty muscular from carrying all those heavy sacks of grain and those millstones..."

Mme. Grognon waved that away. She didn't care about looks. "Is he of good moral character?"

"Definitely," Bambi said decisively. "He gives to charity, he goes to church every week. Occasionally he has a drink at the tavern – all the men do, it's their chance to socialize – but not every night, and from what I hear, he doesn't get drunk, and he goes home early. Moderation and all that."

"He's kind of...well, _serious," _Bubbles added honestly. "He's not one for cracking jokes or anything. But he's a hard worker and very responsible. I think he's just what you're looking for!"

"Indeed!" Mme. Grognon said, delighted to hear it. "I highly approve of a sober, responsible, industrious man; I don't like ones who are too frivolous. And Paige is the same way, quiet and responsible. This man may be the answer to my prayers!" She smiled. "Thank you, girls. I knew you were the ones to ask."

"You know we're always happy to help!" Bambi said.

"Good luck," Bubbles added. "And do keep us updated. We want to hear all about everything!"

Mme. Grognon was in a buoyant mood as she left. This miller sounded like the ideal husband for her daughter. She vowed to visit the mill the very next day, and smiled as she headed home.


	19. A Royal Visit

At the castle, a few days before Christmas, Queen Rosemary spoke up at the breakfast table. "Dear, I was thinking of going to Clermont-Ferrand today to do some Christmas shopping."

"Oh, you don't need to go to all that trouble," King Vincent said, buttering his toast. "I can easily have anything you need sent here from Paris. Or if you want something from a local shop, any of the servants would be happy to go. You know that."

"Well, it's not so much that I _need _anything," Rosemary explained. "I think it improves morale when the royal family appears in public. It means a lot to our subjects to see us out and about, visiting their towns and villages. I think it would brighten their holidays. Besides, supporting the local merchants and craftsmen helps stimulate the economy."

Vincent nodded approvingly. "Very wise of you, as always! I'd love to come with you, but I have to meet with the chancellor of the exchequer today. I thought I'd take Adam along, give him a taste of the inner workings of the government."

"All right, dear," Rosemary said. "I'll see you at dinner then."

"Mother, may I come with you to town?" Christophe asked hopefully. He loved any opportunity to get off the castle grounds and see new sights and new people. "I'm sure it would be good for, um...morale!" He didn't know what that word meant, but his mother had used it, so he hoped it would help his case.

Rosemary laughed. "I'm so glad you're taking an interest in our royal duties, sweetheart...but I just don't know. There will be so many crowds of people there, and I want to keep you safe..."

"Just bring along plenty of bodyguards and footmen," Vincent suggested. "They'll protect you. It's good for Christophe to get out a bit, see more of the kingdom."

He rang a small bell that was on the table, and Cogsworth appeared. "Cogsworth, please send a security detail to Clermont-Ferrand to inform the mayor that the queen and Prince Christophe will be making a public appearance and doing some shopping there today," Vincent commanded. "Make sure they have a full complement of bodyguards and footmen for their protection. The safety of the queen and prince is the highest priority."

Cogsworth bowed. "Of course. I'll attend to it at once, Your Majesty!" He hurried off.

Christophe was delighted. He couldn't wait to get to the town. As the coach approached Clermont-Ferrand, he was fascinated by all the little cottages and shops that lined the streets, and all the people carrying baskets and food and tools, hurrying here and there. As busy as the people were, they all stopped to stare when they saw the coach, and whispered to each other.

The coach stopped, and the mayor approached, his hat in his hand, awed by the presence of royalty. He kneeled before them. "Your Majesty, you honor our town with your presence!" he said, kneeling. Rosemary bade him rise, and he continued, "Be assured that all our shops will be closed to the public while you're inside, so that you can browse at your leisure."

"Oh, that wasn't necessary," Rosemary said. "We don't want to inconvenience anyone."

"Nonsense," the mayor said with a low bow. "It is our privilege to accomodate you, and to make your stay at comfortable as possible. Our town is completely at your disposal."

"Thank you. You are most kind," Rosemary said graciously. "Come along, Christophe." Happily, Christophe followed her into the first shop.

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Unaware of the royal visit, Belle had decided to do her Christmas shopping that day too. Alain had to work, and Georges was spending the day with a friend. But Gaston, Belle, and the two girls rode to Clermont-Ferrand.

But when they arrived, they found the town square completely swamped with crowds of people. "Did _everyone_ in France come here today to do Christmas shopping?" Belle wondered.

Gaston looked around, his sharp eyes observant. "They're not shopping...they're all just standing around," he said, puzzled. He peered into some nearby shop windows. "This is strange...the stores are empty, aside from the store owners." He tapped a nearby woman on the shoulder. "Excuse me, but what's going on?"

The woman turned to him, her face flushed with excitement. "Queen Rosemary and Prince Christophe are _here! _Right here, in our very town! They're doing their Christmas shopping here! Isn't it exciting?"

_"Really?"_ squealed Lili. She jumped up and down, trying to see over people's heads. "Where are they?"

The woman pointed at the largest shop in the town. "They're in that shop right now."

"Oh, that's where we were going ourselves," Belle said.

"Hooray! We can go in and see them!" shouted Lili happily.

The woman shook her head. "Oh, no, all the stores are closed to the public during the royal visit! No one is allowed to go in until they finish shopping," she explained. "The royal family needs to be able to shop in peace and privacy, you know."

Mimi scowled and stamped her foot. "That's not _fair!_ Why do _we_ have to wait, just because they want to shop? They don't need all the stores all to themselves!"

"Rank has its privileges, I suppose," Gaston said, annoyed by the inconvenience as well. But there was nothing they could do about it. "We'll just have to come back another day."

"Oh, Papa, please, can't we wait here till they come out?" Lili begged. "I'd give _anything_ to see a real live queen and a real live prince!"

Gaston had to smile at that. "Of course. Your wish is my command!" he said affectionately. He picked her up and put her on his shoulders, so she could have a better view when the queen and prince emerged from the store.

Belle moved closer to her husband, peering at the store. "I have to admit, I'd like to see them too! I've never seen actual royalty before."

After a while, the doors opened, and the crowd began to buzz and stir in anticipation. A herald blew a fanfare and announced loudly, "Her Majesty Queen Rosemary and His Royal Highness Prince Christophe!" The crowd cheered as the two figures emerged from the store and went to stand on a large platform set up next to their coach.

Queen Rosemary held up her hand for quiet and addressed the crowd. "My dear friends, it has been our greatest pleasure to visit your beautiful town today and sample the wares in your lovely stores. The hospitality of your people and the excellent workmanship of your craftsmen is truly unparalleled. You have much to be proud of here in Clermont-Ferrand. We hope to visit again in future!" The queen and prince waved at the crowd, which went wild with cheers again.

Lili was bouncing on Gaston's shoulders and waving eagerly at the royals. "Isn't she beautiful?" she said, thrilled. "And the prince is _so_ handsome! I wish we could meet him. I bet he's the nicest boy _ever!"_

Mimi shook her head, unimpressed. "Nah. I bet he's a spoiled brat. I mean, he made them close the whole _town _and made us all wait forever, just so _he_ could go shopping! I bet he gets everything he wants and bosses everyone around all the time."

Lili ignored her, too overcome at the sight of real, honest-to-goodness royalty to care what her sister said. "HI, PRINCE CHRISTOPHE!!!" she yelled, waving. Then she gasped. "OH! Look! He's looking right at _me!"_ She waved so enthusiastically that she almost fell off her father's shoulders. The young prince grinned and waved back. Lili squealed in delight. "Papa! Mama! Did you _see_ that? This is the best day of my whole _life!"_

"Yes, I certainly did see! Aren't you lucky!" Belle said, smiling at her daughter's happiness.

Standing next to her father, Mimi saw the prince's gaze shift in her direction. _Hey...is he looking at ME now? __Oh, I bet he thinks I'm thrilled to death, just because he LOOKED at me. Like that's the greatest thing ever, just 'cause he's a prince. What a swelled head! _she thought.

Impulsively, she made a face and stuck her tongue out at him. _So there, prince! You're not so wonderful! _

He looked surprised, and Mimi felt a moment of triumph. _Ha!_ _Take that!_

But then to her amazement, he _laughed! _Then he grinned good-naturedly at her.

_Hmm. Well...all right, maybe he's NOT such a swelled head, _she had to admit, unable to suppress a smile in return. _At least he has a sense of humor._

But then she saw him whispering to the queen. _Uh-oh..._ Mimi was suddenly worried. Would the queen be mad that she'd stuck her tongue out at royalty? _Do they cut people's heads off for things like that?_ She tugged on her father's sleeve. "Papa, can't we go shopping now?"

"Well, it looks like they're about to get into their coach," Gaston said. "Once they leave, the crowds will clear out, and then we can go." Mimi quickly moved behind her mother so no one could see her until the coach left and the royals were gone. Then, relieved that she hadn't gotten in trouble, she followed her parents into the shop.

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When they had been shopping in the store, Christophe had enjoyed looking through all the interesting items. There was so much to see! He was especially fascinated by a little mechanical horse that wound up with a key, and his mother had bought it for him, much to his delight. The shopkeeper told them that it had been made by a local inventor from one of the neighboring villages.

When they finally emerged from the shop, they were greeted by a tremendous roar. It took Christophe a moment to realize that it was the sound of people cheering. There were hundreds of people gathered in the square, all waiting to see them.

The queen made a little speech about how nice the town was. It didn't seem like a big deal to Christophe, but the people cheered again, delighted that their ruler was actually in their presence and had deigned to speak to them. Rosemary whispered, "Smile and wave at them, dear."

Christophe obeyed. His mother gestured for him to follow her, walking around the platform and turning in all directions, so they could smile and wave to every part of the crowd in turn. Soon Christophe's arm was tired, and his face was starting to hurt from smiling so much. The sea of faces was all blurring together. _I really hope we can go home soon, _he thought. The day wasn't turning out to be as fun as he'd thought it would be.

Then his attention was caught by a young girl of five or six, bouncing up and down from atop her father's shoulders, screaming his name and waving wildly, obviously trying to get his attention. She was so cute and so sincerely, genuinely happy that he couldn't help smiling. He grinned and waved right at her. Immediately she shrieked with delight, looking ecstatic. She talked excitedly to her parents, pointing at him. Christophe began to feel better.

There was another girl, about nine years old with black hair, standing next to the girl who was on her father's shoulders. But the black-haired girl wasn't smiling. Not wanting her to feel left out, he gave her a grin and a wave too.

But the black-haired girl didn't react like the other one had. Instead, seeing him looking at her, she made a face and stuck her tongue out at him!

It was so unexpected, Christophe burst out laughing. All those people waving and cheering in unison, all alike...and then suddenly, there was this girl making silly faces and sticking her tongue out at him! After all the fawning attention of the shopkeepers and the awed worship of the crowds, it was nice to have someone treat him like just a regular kid.

"Christophe!" Queen Rosemary reprimanded. "This is a dignified occasion! What on earth are you laughing about?"

"Mother, a girl just stuck her tongue out at me!" Christophe said, still grinning. "I'm going to do it back to her!"

_"NO!" _Queen Rosemary said hastily. "What have I told you about decorum? We do _not_ stick our tongues out at people! It's vulgar. Now, it's time to leave. Wave one more time, and let's get into the coach."

Christophe sighed. "Yes, Mother." He looked over the crowd again, but couldn't see the black-haired girl anymore. The younger girl was still there, though, and he gave her a final wave, and a wink for good measure. She squealed with joy, and he was glad he could make her so happy. Then he followed his mother into the coach, and they headed for home.


	20. Castle Christmas

On Christmas morning, the king and queen began the gift-giving with the practical presents: clothing and books. Then King Vincent said to his older son, "Adam, I have something else for you. Something that holds a great deal of meaning for me, as I hope it will for you."

"Yes, Father?" Adam asked.

Meanwhile, Christophe looked on with interest. Although he was eager to get to his own presents, he was also very curious to know what mysterious, important gift his brother was getting.

Vincent removed the antique signet ring he always wore and held it up. "This ring bears the royal crest of our family. It has been passed down from father to firstborn son for countless generations of my lineage. As you know, Adam, you are destined to rule after I am gone. It is a responsibility not to be taken lightly. Your actions and decisions will chart the course for an entire nation."

Adam swallowed, looking a bit anxious at that thought. But he steadied himself, met his father's gaze and nodded.

Vincent continued, "You're 16 now, and you have grown into a fine young man: responsible, ethical, a man of intelligence, wisdom and integrity, never rash or impulsive."

Christophe felt a little guilty, hearing that. "Rash" and "impulsive" were what his parents called _him_ all the time.

Vincent put his hand on Adam's shoulder. "Adam, your mother and I are very proud of you. When the time comes, I have every confidence that you will be a fine king, and make both France and your ancestors proud. I pass this ring on to you now to symbolize my faith in you and to look to the future." With an air of solemnity and ceremony, he slipped the ring onto Adam's finger.

Rosemary embraced her son and wiped a tear from her eye. "I can't believe how fast you're growing up! Your father is right: I know you'll make a wonderful king."

Adam was clearly moved – so much so that he was speechless for a moment. Then he bowed. "Thank you, Father, Mother. I am honored. I shall strive to be worthy of the trust you have placed in me."

Christophe, on the other hand, was disappointed. _That's it? _he thought. _That whole big speech just for a RING? What a dull present! _All you could do with a ring was _wear _it – nothing fun about that at all. And they'd _always _known that Adam was going to be king some day, so that was nothing new...what was the big deal?

As though reading his mind, his father turned to Christophe. "Now, you've been waiting very patiently, but I'm sure you're eager to see _your _presents," he said with a smile.

"Yes, please!" Christophe perked up.

Vincent put his arm around his younger son. "Come with me into the armory room."

_The armory room? _Now _that _sounded a lot more interesting than some boring ring!

Vincent stood in front of a glass cabinet, but instead of opening it, he began to speak. Christophe sighed. His father just _had _to make everything into a grand occasion.

"Now, mon brave," Vincent began. "Over the years, your mother and I have often impressed upon you what it means to be royalty, and all the responsibility that that entails. We've also talked about what it means to be a gentleman – how a gentleman should behave at all times."

"Yes, Father," Christophe said dutifully. Was he really going to get a lecture on etiquette _now, _on Christmas? _I didn't even do anything WRONG yet! _he thought. _Or, wait...did I? _He tried to think if there was anything he might be in trouble for.

Vincent chuckled at his expression. "Don't look so concerned! What I was leading up to is simply that being a gentleman entails much _more_ than merely good manners. A true gentleman needs to be adept at _many_ skills, able to take care of himself in any situation that might arise. Now that you're getting older, it's time you began learning those skills. So..." He opened the glass case and took out a finely-crafted, lightweight sword.

Christophe's eyes nearly popped out. "Is that for _me?"_ he yelled in excitement.

"Yes." Vincent placed it in his hands with the same air of ceremony with which he'd given Adam the ring.

But Christophe didn't take any time to ponder the significance of the gift. Immediately he swung it in the air in a huge arc with a war cry. "Hi-YAAA!"

Vincent hastily jumped out of the way of the blade. "Careful there, mon brave! That's not a toy – it's a dangerous weapon. Treat it with respect."

Christophe lowered the sword sheepishly. "Sorry, Father." He went back to thrusting and parrying, jabbing at invisible enemies, but more cautiously this time. He couldn't wait to show Renè!

Rosemary took her husband aside, wringing her hands anxiously. "Vincent, are you _certain _this is a good idea? Couldn't we wait another year or two, when he's more mature?"

Vincent shook his head. "Rosemary, we've already talked about this. Believe me, I understand how you feel. But Christophe is almost 10 years old already. Adam started these lessons at a much younger age. I've held off this long in deference to your feelings, but Christophe needs to learn _sometime. _You can't keep him wrapped in cotton wool forever."

Rosemary sighed. "I know," she admitted. "But Adam was always so careful. Christophe can be so impulsive sometimes, and, well...he's my _baby!_ I just don't want him to get hurt."

"Of course not. But that's exactly why these lessons are just what he needs," Vincent said with certainty. "Fencing isn't just waving a sword around. It requires an enormous amount of self-discipline, balance, coordination, focus, and concentration, as well as a healthy respect for the damage a sword can do. It also takes hours and hours of practice to master it. These lessons will give Christophe an outlet for all that energy of his, _and _teach him self-control and discipline in the process. This is the best thing we could ever do for him, you'll see."

"I suppose," Rosemary conceded, still unsure.

Vincent smiled reassuringly. "Besides, you're always saying you want Christophe to act like a gentleman. What self-respecting gentleman doesn't know how to fence?"

"That's true," Rosemary admitted. "Of course you're right, as always, dear. I'm just being overprotective."

"Just as you should be," Vincent said, smiling. "That's a mother's job, whether she's a queen or a peasant."

He tapped Christophe on the shoulder. "Christophe...by the way, I wasn't finished. There's more." Christophe immediately stopped playing with the sword and looked up hopefully. What could be better than this? "In addition to fencing, you're also going to learn archery and falconry. And while you're already a fine horseman, your riding lessons are going to become more advanced. You'll learn how to jump obstacles, how to handle ill-tempered steeds, even how to ride bareback."

_"_Really? Oh, thank you, Father! That's marvellous. I can't wait to start!" Christophe said excitedly. Then he had another thought. "Say, does this mean I can quit all the other lessons? Latin and everything?"

Vincent laughed. "I'm afraid not," he said in amusement. "A prince must be well-educated. That means being well-versed in Latin, history, literature, mathematics, and many other subjects. All this means is that you'll be far more busy than you've ever been!"

"Oh." Christophe shrugged. He hadn't _really_ thought he'd be allowed to give up all the boring subjects, but it was worth a try. "May I go show Renè my sword now?"

Vincent shook his head. "I don't think it's such a good idea for you to go running through the castle with a sword." He held out his hand for the weapon. Reluctantly, Christophe surrendered it. "But you may certainly _tell _him about it."

"Thank you, Father!" Christophe started to run for the door.

His mother called after him. "Don't take too long, sweetheart. You still have to wash and dress for dinner! You mustn't be tardy for the Christmas party!"

Christophe was down in the servants quarters eagerly telling a very impressed Renè about his sword when Lumière came in and interrupted. "I heard about your upcoming lessons, Your Highness - that is very exciting news indeed! But it seems you will have to continue your talk later. Your mother sent me to tell you that it is time for you to get ready for the party."

"Oh, right." Christophe got up reluctantly. "I wish _you _could come to the party, Renè! It would be so much more fun if you were there!"

"Yeah, I'll just be stuck in the kitchen washing dishes," Renè said, making a face. Then he brightened. "But in a few years, I _will _be at those parties, serving the guests! Right, Papa?" He looked at his father for confirmation.

Lumière patted his son on the head. "If you work hard and learn all you can, then _oui_, mon fils: one day you may reach the heights I have achieved as a _maitre'd, _planning out an entire 12-course meal with flair."

"Oh, I don't want to plan out food..." Renè mused. "I like _people_ more than food! I don't want to be stuck in the kitchen or looking at the table. I'd rather be out there serving the guests, hearing everybody talk and everything."

Lumière was disappointed, but recovered quickly. "Well, of course it is important to be sociable! To be charming, a bon vivant, a witty conversationalist, there is nothing more delightful...especially when it comes to pleasing the ladies," he added with a wink. "But at the same time, creating the perfect dinner is an _art form_, one to be admired and appreciated! Truly, if you would pay more attention in the kitchen, you would realize what a marvellous role it is..."

Christophe gave Renè a sympathetic grin and went upstairs to get ready for the party.

An hour later, he was in the ballroom, uncomfortable and itchy in his best clothes, dutifully reciting practiced replies to the nobles who greeted him. The ballroom was gleaming, the music was pretty, and the food was good, but he wasn't really having a good time. He would rather have been washing dishes with Renè, joking around and not worrying about being on his best behavior.

"Merry Christmas, Your Highness," a voice said at his shoulder. Christophe looked up to see a tall, slim boy with long, straight black hair, wearing expensive burgundy-colored velvet clothes in the latest style.

"Oh, Merry Christmas, Germain," Christophe replied. Le Vicomte Germain des Dédaigneux, the son of le Comte des Dédaigneux, was only a year older than Christophe. They were often thrown together at these social events, being close in age.

"I got the most outstanding Christmas gift this year: a sword that belonged to my grandfather," Germain bragged. "You really must come visit us and see it – it's truly impressive."

Christophe lit up. "Really? I got a sword for Christmas too! Do you want to see it?"

Germain looked disgruntled at being upstaged, but said politely, "Of course, I would be honored if you want to show it to me."

"Come on, then." Christophe led him to the armory room, where the sword hung in its glass case. He knew his father wouldn't want him to take it out...but he couldn't resist opening the case and taking it down to show off to Germain.

Germain looked it over, then smiled triumphantly. "It's very nice," he said patronizingly. "But you should see _mine! _It has a solid gold handle encrusted with rubies and emeralds."

"Wouldn't that make it too heavy to fight with?" Christophe asked, puzzled. "A sword should be light."

Germain scoffed. "It's a ceremonial sword. My grandfather used to wear it in parades, or just riding around his lands supervising the serfs. People see a sword like that, they know you're someone important. All true noble families have ceremonial swords for grand occasions. I'd have thought _you _would know that," he added condescendingly.

"Oh." Christophe shrugged. "I think it's more fun to have a sword you can _use. _In fact," he added eagerly, "my father says I can start taking fencing lessons soon!"

"Oh?" Germain looked taken aback. "Well...my father says I can as well!" he improvised smoothly, not to be outdone. "In fact, he's going to get me the finest fencing instructor in the country!"

"Really? Maybe we can fence together sometime," Christophe suggested.

"Yes...that would be outstanding," Germain said.He brandished the sword. "En garde!" Then he straightened up. "Yes...I think it will be fine to know how to duel. People would _really _be scared of you then, wouldn't they?"

Christophe frowned. He liked the idea of swordfighting because it was fun and adventurous. "Why would you want to make people scared? That's silly," he scoffed.

"No, it's not. It's all about power," Germain explained patiently, as though to a simpleton. "My father says most of power is just in the way you look at people and talk to them. If you make it clear that you expect to be obeyed, they just do what you tell them. But you _also_ have to have something to back it up with, like money or a title. Knowing swordfighting would be good for that too. People wouldn't _dare_ cross you if they knew you could challenge them to a duel!" Germain learned forward and held the tip of the sword against a chair, as though it were the throat of an enemy. "Ah, monsieur, you have insulted me for the last time," he said in a low menacing voice. "Prepare to pay the ultimate penalty." He laughed and stood up. "Outstanding."

Christophe grabbed the sword back. "It's time to put it back now," he said firmly. He decided he really didn't like Germain very much. He replaced the sword in the case. "Let's get back to the party before they wonder where we went."

The party was in full swing as they returned. Nobles were dancing, eating and socializing. Christophe took a pastry off the table and began nibbling on it.

A servant passed by with a tray of glasses of punch. Germain took one. After a few sips, he set it down on the table, not realizing he'd placed it too close to the edge. A second later, it fell and smashed on the ground with a tinkling crash. Germain looked annoyed. "There goes my drink," he grumbled, as though it were the glass's fault.

Cogsworth, who had been standing unobtrusively by the wall overseeing the party, instantly rushed forward to clean it up. As head of the household, he was normally above such petty tasks as cleaning, but his highest priority right now was making sure the royal party went perfectly. Broken glass could not be left on the floor even for the minute it would take to fetch one of the housemaids. It had to be taken care of immediately, so no one would step on it and so it would not ruin the immaculate look of the ballroom.

Germain barely glanced at the mess; it wasn't his concern. "I'm thirsty and my drink is ruined," he complained. He went over to Cogsworth, who was carefully cleaning up the shards of glass. "You!" Germain ordered, snapping his fingers. "Get me some more punch."

Cogsworth looked up. "Certainly, Your Excellency!" he said respectfully. "I'll attend to it as soon as I finish cleaning up this glass."

Germain looked outraged. "I'm _thirsty!_ You're a servant, and I gave you an order! Are you actually telling me to _wait?_ I must tell His Majesty that his staff is too lazy to serve his guests!"

Cogsworth was horrified. He prided himself on everything being perfect at all times. This was his worst nightmare. He snapped to attention, bowed so low he almost fell over, and started stammering apologies. "I'm terribly sorry, Your Excellency...most unforgiveable of me...Of course I will see that you get your punch..."

Germain tapped his foot impatiently. _"Now_ you're wasting my time babbling instead of getting me my drink! Are you completely incompetent?"

Cogsworth was sweating and red in the face now. Without another word, he rushed off to get the punch and tell a housemaid to clean up the glass.

Germain rolled his eyes. "You really should have better staff, Your Highness," he said to Christophe. "This is the King's castle, after all! It reflects badly on the royal family."

Chris was staring at him in disbelief. "He was cleaning up _broken glass!_ Someone could step on it and get hurt! That's more important than your drink. How could you be so rude?"

Germain looked surprised. "It's not rude. He's a _servant,_ not anyone important! My mother says the servant class are all shiftless and lazy by nature. You have to be on top of them every minute, or they'll slack off whenever they can."

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard!" Christophe said angrily, glaring at him. "Our servants are all _great _people. And _my_ mother says a true gentleman is gracious to everyone, no matter what their station, from the highest king to the humblest peasant."

Germain sneered, about to respond. But before he could, Christophe stepped forward, looked him straight in the eye and added fiercely, "This is _my_ father's castle, and he's the _king._ Don't you _ever_ talk that way that to our servants again!"

The mention of the king stopped Germain short, making him realize he had overstepped his rank. Still fuming inside, he made a curt bow. "Of course, Your Highness," he said stiffly. "Forgive me. I was just thirsty."

Cogsworth hurried up with a glass of punch. "Your drink, Your Excellency," he said with a bow. "I hope it is to your liking."

Germain took it and drank it in one swallow. "Yes. I had better find my parents – I'm sure they're wondering where I am." With one more bow to the prince, he left.

After the party was over, Christophe headed downstairs towards the servants' quarters to tell René about it. As he reached the doorway, he heard Cogsworth telling the story of the broken glass to the other servants. "My word!" he was saying, sitting down and mopping his brow with a handkerchief. "I thought that boy was going to run off to His Majesty and try to have me dismissed right then and there!"

"Now, now," Mrs. Potts said, handing him a glass of water. "You know how highly the master thinks of you! You shouldn't let these things get to you."

Lumière nodded, looking angry. "Some of these nobles have less manners than a pig in a barn! Fortunately our king and queen are not like that. Mrs. Potts is right: do not let that young rascal's words upset you."

"Are you talking about Germain?" Christophe asked, coming into the room. The servants all looked up, startled to see him, and exchanged awkward glances with each other. Christophe was upset to see that they all fell silent at the sight of him. They were servants complaining about the nobility, and the prince certainly fell into the latter category. He had the uncomfortable feeling that they didn't feel free to continue the talk with him around. It hurt his feelings a bit.

"Cogsworth, listen, I'm sorry for the way Germain acted," Christophe said. "You did a _great _job with the party! He was very rude, and I'm sure my parents would have been upset if they saw him talking to you like that. Don't feel bad."

Cogsworth managed a smile. "Thank you, Your Highness," he said sincerely. "I am very glad that you see things that way. Still, as servants, the first lesson we are taught is that nobles are always right, no matter how they behave."

"But that's not fair," Christophe protested.

Mrs. Potts came over and patted his shoulder. "You're a good boy, Christophe. I wish more of the nobility would follow the example of you and your parents. Now, you'd best be getting off to bed – it's getting late, dearie."

"All right." He waved to his friends, glad that the moment of awkwardness had passed and they were talking to him openly again. "Good night, everybody." Feeling better, he went up to bed.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

_Next chapter: Back to Paige and Nicolas' story!_


	21. His Little Wife

"Guess what? Guess what?" Lili burst out as she ran toward the group of children playing outside the school on the first day back.

"Ooh, what?" asked Denis curiously. The other children all listened with interest.

"We saw the Queen and Prince Christophe!" Lili squealed.

_"Really?"_ gasped Jeanne, one of Lili's friends. "Where?"

"In Clermont-Ferrand!" Lili said. "We went there to go shopping, and the queen and the prince were shopping there too! So we waited in the town square and then they came out and stood on a big stage and the queen talked and they both waved to us! And Prince Christophe looked right at _me! _He smiled and waved and winked at _me!"_ She clasped her hands to her heart. "It was _wonderful!"_

"Oh, you are so _lucky!" _said Jeanne. "What was he like?"

"He was so handsome and charming," sighed Lili.

Mimi, not to be outdone, spoke up. "Oh, he wasn't _that _great," she scoffed. "He's so spoiled – he even made them close all the stores just so HE could go shopping! We all had to wait. So you know what I did?" She grinned mischievously. "I stuck my tongue out at him!"

Fantine and Justine gasped. "Are you _crazy?"_ Fantine cried.

Mimi shrugged. "I was mad that we couldn't go shopping. And anyway, he's just a boy. I'm not gonna bow down to some _boy _- I don't care _who _he is!"

"You're wicked, Mimi! You're lucky you didn't get arrested!" Justine said.

Fantine glared at Mimi. "She _should _have been arrested, and horsewhipped too, for being so disrespectful to our royal family! You're just lucky they didn't see you do it!"

Belle came out and rang the schoolbell. "Time for class, children!" They started filing inside the schoolhouse.

Lili, in the back, pulled Denis aside. "Denis, do you want to come over and play today after school?"

"Sure!" he said happily.

"Great!" Lili said. "I'll be a damsel in distress, and you can be Prince Christophe and come rescue me!"

Denis wasn't sure how he felt about that idea. "But I like being Sir Denis, the knight in shining armor."

Lili looked up at him with big blue eyes. "Pleeeeeaaase?" she wheedled. "Just this one time?"

"Well...okay," Denis said, smiling. "Since you're my best friend and all."

"Yay! It'll be so much fun!" Lili said. She grabbed his hand. "Come on, let's go in!" They ran into the schoolhouse.

O o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

Mme. Grognon stepped cautiously into the mill. She had never been there before; it was primarily farmers who used its services. But she was on a mission.

She immediately spied Amaury Meunier, the miller, sweeping the floor. He was a large man of 27, big of girth but also muscular from years of lifting heavy grain sacks and fixing the machinery. He was not classically handsome, but he had strong features and a neatly-trimmed beard. His thick black hair was tucked neatly under a white cap. As was traditional for his profession, he wore snug-fitting white clothes, an apron, and a kerchief at his neck to keep pesky grains from getting under his collar.

He looked up as she entered, put the broom aside, wiped his hands on his apron and came toward her. "May I help you, Madame?"

At that simple question, Mme. Grognon was ready, all set to launch into the speech she had prepared. After all, this wasn't like the general store, where she could pretend she'd come in to buy something. The mill was patronized by farmers, who brought their grain here to be ground into meal. She certainly wasn't a farmer. What possible excuse could she have for being here? She'd given it some thought, then had a brainstorm – an idea that would not only help Paige, but would have a positive consequence to the community.

She stepped forward with a smile. "Good day, Monsieur Meunier. I understand you're on the town council. My name is Madame Grognon – my husband is the new minister of the church. We've been talking about organizing a charitable function for the widows and orphans of the village. But it seemed to me that the first step would be to talk to a town council member about what forms of charity are _already_ in place here. We want to work with the council to add to the charitable works that are currently being performed -- not duplicate efforts or step on anyone's toes, so to speak."

Monsieur Meunier considered that. "Well...we don't actually have much in the way of official, organized functions. The previous minister just had a collection box set up for alms for the poor. But I think it's a good idea to organize something larger. I'll talk to the council about it and try to set up a meeting with you and your husband."

"Oh, good. That would be wonderful," Mme. Grognon said. She looked around. "My, this is a big mill! I've never been here before. You must do very well for yourself."

He nodded. "I get by," he said dismissively, never one to brag. "I've been blessed to have a business that's always necessary; farmers always need their grain ground. The Lord's been good to me."

"It certainly seems so," Mme. Grognon said, already approving of this man. He was clearly very responsible and hard-working; his business was thriving; and he respectfully mentioned the Lord in conversation. What more could she ask for? "And you keep the place so _clean, _too," she went on, admiring the just-swept floor.

"Thank you. I try my best," he said modestly.

Mme. Grognon paused, then added calculatingly, "Your wife is very lucky to have such a hard-working, successful husband." She knew, of course, that he was a widower, but she needed to direct the conversation into the subject of marriage.

At her comment, the miller was a bit taken aback. "My Marianne passed away last year, God rest her soul." He lifted a large sack of grain and carried it to the other side of the room, as though closing the subject.

Undaunted, Mme. Grognon followed him. _What a perfect opening! _she thought triumphantly. "Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that. It must be very hard for a man all on his own without a wife," she said sympathetically. "Have you ever thought of...remarrying?"

He stared at her, shocked that a complete stranger would ask such a personal question. He was a stoic, private man, who believed in tending to one's own business and not meddling in the affairs of others.

Mme. Grognon leaned forward. "I can understand that this is a delicate topic," she acknowledged. "But it's not good for a man to be alone, especially one as young as yourself. And as the Bible says, 'For this cause shall a man leave his father and mother, and shall be joined unto his wife, and they two shall be one flesh.' Besides," she added, "It must be so lonely, a man at home all by himself. I'm sure it would be nice for you to have a woman about the place."

Monsieur Meunier cleared his throat. "Yes, well..." he said awkwardly. "Thank you for your concern, Madame. I'm afraid I really must get back to work now."

"Oh, of course! I'm so sorry to have taken up so much of your time," Mme. Grognon replied, gathering her basket of groceries. "But before I leave, let me invite you to dinner at our house tomorrow night."

"I don't think—" Monsieur Meunier began.

"I insist," Mme. Grognon persisted with a smile. "My husband is the new minister in town, you know, and he wants to make the acquaintance of everyone on the council. Besides, it would give us a perfect chance to discuss our plans for the charity function! And believe me, you won't be disappointed by the food – my daughter Paige is a marvellous cook."

At that moment, two farmers entered the mill, each carrying huge sacks of grain.

"I simply _won't_ leave until you agree to come to dinner," Mme. Grognon went on with a smile.

Needing to tend to his customers, Monsieur Meunier nodded quickly. "Yes, yes, all right, dinner tomorrow night. Thank you. Good day, Madame." He went over to help the farmers with their grain.

"Good day to you, Monsieur!" Mme. Grognon called after him cheerfully.

Eagerly she hurried home to find her daughter. "Paige, there's no time to lose! We must clean the house right now!"

Paige was confused. She looked around. "But it's already clean, isn't it?"

Mme. Grognon shook her head impatiently. "Not clean _enough! _We have a very important visitor coming to dinner tomorrow – the town miller, Monsieur Meunier. I want every surface in this house _gleaming! _Thank goodness you bought those fancy glasses with the flowers on them. We need to impress him! And after we finish cleaning, we must spend the rest of the day cooking the best meal you've ever made...I wish I knew what he liked..."

"He must be a very important man," Paige said, putting on her apron and trying to ignore the pang in her heart when her mother mentioned the flower glasses. She couldn't help remembering how happy she'd been the day she bought them from Nicolas...and how his father had said he'd spent so much extra time and effort detailing the designs, just for her...

"He _is _important," Mme. Grognon said, interrupting Paige's thoughts. "He's on the town council, and he's very wealthy too. In fact..."

She smiled, about to say more, but then thought better of it. _If I tell Paige that the miller would be a perfect catch for her, she'll be too nervous and anxious to impress him,_ _and probably start stammering, _Mme. Grognon decided. Paige was a sweet girl, but confidence was not her strong point. _Better that she just act naturally...and I'll make sure that Monsieur Meunier is made well aware of all her virtues._

"Never mind. Let's just say he's very important, and we need to impress him, and leave it at that. Now, come!" She clapped her hands once impatiently. "Let's start with mopping."

Obediently, Paige went to get the mop and bucket.

O o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

By the following evening, all was ready. The house was gleaming, the dinner was prepared. Mme. Grognon was wearing her best dress, and she'd even insisted that Luc wash behind his ears and put on his best clothes, despite his grumbling.

Rev. Grognon shook his head as he tied his cravat. "Just how important _is _this man, Mathilde? I wish you'd given me more warning that we were having a guest for dinner!"

"He's on the town council, and he's very wealthy and successful and a very respected man in this town," Mme. Grognon said smoothly. "As the new minister, it's very important for you to make connections and get to know the people who run the village. Besides..." She smiled with self-satisfaction. "I've been making inquiries, and I think he'd be the _perfect_ husband for our Paige."

Rev. Grognon stopped tying and stared at her. "Is _that_ what this is all about? For heaven's sake, Mathilde, how could you just rush ahead and do this without consulting me first? I'm Paige's _father!_ I have the final say in who she marries. Why, I don't even _know _this man!"

"Of _course _you're the final authority! That's exactly why I invited him," Mme. Grognon said quickly, realizing she had to placate him. "This way you can see him for yourself and ask him all the questions you want, and decide whether _you _think he's suitable. I haven't even told him about Paige yet. I thought we could broach the subject tonight..._if _you approve of him, of course."

Rev. Grognon was slightly mollified by this. "Well...all right. But if I don't approve, he's not marrying her," he said firmly.

"Of course not," agreed Mme. Grognon.

"Well...all right. So tell me, what exactly do you know of this man?" Rev. Grognon said, starting to warm up to the possibility.

Mme. Grognon smiled smugly to herself, glad that he had come around to her way of thinking. She always knew best, after all. In answer to his question, she counted off the miller's good qualities on her fingers. "He's an honest, sober, responsible man with a sterling reputation. He has a thriving business with an excellent income, and he's a very hard worker. He's on the town council, so he's a very influential and respected man in the village. _And_ he has a large house."

"Mmm..." Rev. Grognon mused. "It does sound like he's a person of good moral character, who could provide very well for Paige..."

"Precisely," Mme. Grognon agreed.

Paige came downstairs wearing her dark green dress. Mme. Grognon eyed her critically and shook her head. "Paige, why don't you wear that pretty yellow dress your father gave you? And tie your hair back like you did at the Christmas party – you look very well that way. You need to make a good impression tonight!"

"Yes, Mother," Paige said obediently, going back upstairs in confusion. Her green dress had always been good enough before .

As she came back down, dressed as her mother had instructed, there was a knock at the door. "Paige, let our guest in and take his coat," her mother called. Paige opened the door.

A tall, brawny, bearded man with bushy eyebrows filled the doorway, towering over her. "Good evening. I am Amaury Meunier. Madame Grognon invited me," he said with a perfunctory bow, his eyes already sweeping past her in search of his host.

"Yes, come in," Paige said, feeling awkward and intimidated by this imposing stranger, who was supposed to be so important. "I'm Paige. May I take your coat?" He nodded absently, not looking at her as she took it and hung it up. Seeing Mme. Grognon, he stepped forward. "Good evening, Madame. Thank you for the invitation."

"I'm _so _glad you could make it," Mme. Grognon said with an ingratiating smile. She ushered her husband and son forward. "This is my husband, Eugene, and our son Luc."

Rev. Grognon extended his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Monsieur Meunier."

The miller shook his hand. "Likewise. I've enjoyed your sermons on Sunday."

"Thank you," said Rev. Grognon.

"And THIS..." Mme. Grognon said with an air of great significance, "is my daughter Paige."

Monsieur Meunier looked as confused as Paige felt. "Uh, yes, we met at the door. Very nice to meet you, Madamoiselle."

Paige automatically gave a polite curtsey. "It's nice to meet you too."

Then there was a slightly awkward silence as they all stood looking at each other. Mme. Grognon cleared her throat. "Well, shall we sit down for dinner?"

They sat down, and Paige busied herself bringing out the food, then sat down and ate quietly while the adults talked. Luc shoveled down his food and played with his fork. Mme. Grognon did most of the talking. She was suggesting a food and clothing drive for the poor. "Of course we always pass around the charity plate each Sunday, but not everyone can afford to give monetary alms, after all," she said. "But we _could_ ask everyone to either cook a meal, or donate clothes they don't need. They could bring them to the church on Sunday, and then we could distribute them to the needy."

Rev. Grognon nodded approvingly. "A very good idea, Mathilde! I'll announce it from the pulpit this Sunday, and then people can bring the items the following week."

Mme. Grognon went on, "Paige and I can distribute them to the needy families...but we'll need a cart, and a man strong enough to carry the items that are too heavy for us...would _you_ be so kind to come with us and help, Monsieur Meunier?" she wheedled.

"Oh...certainly," the miller replied. "We all must do our part."

"Wonderful!" Mme. Grognon said.

Monsieur Meunier finished eating and put down his fork. "This meal was delicious, Mme. Grognon. Thank you again."

"You're welcome. But I must tell you, Paige did all the cooking." She gestured at her daughter. "She is such a talented cook." Paige reddened as everyone looked at her. She hated being the center of attention.

"She certainly is," Monseiur Meunier said, looking at Paige for the first time. "That was an excellent meal, Mademoiselle. My compliments."

"Thank you," Paige said, looking down. Feeling self-conscious, she stood up to clear the dishes.

Mme. Grognon immediately spoke up. "Thank you, Paige, dear. You're such a blessing and a help to me." Paige was surprised; her mother had never thanked her for clearing dishes before. As Paige took the dishes into the kitchen and began to make tea, Mme. Grognon turned to Monsieur Meunier. "Paige is such an efficient housekeeper – she keeps our home so clean, and does everything before I even ask her! She always knows exactly what needs to be done. She also sews and embroiders beautifully." She paused a moment, then added meaningfully, "The man who takes her for a wife will be a _very_ lucky man."

"Indeed," Monsieur Meunier murmured, almost to himself. Then he looked at Mme. Grognon. "I'm sure she must already have many suitors." It sounded more like a question than an observation.

Mme. Grognon waved her hand dismissively. "Oh, young boys these days are so immature and unreliable! I was saying to my friends just the other day, I think a young girl is best off marrying an _older _man – someone steady and established. Don't you agree?"

In the kitchen, preparing the tea, Paige could hear everything. Her mother's praise of her abilities was a pleasant surprise at first – Paige didn't usually get much appreciation. She smiled, touched by her mother's unexpected compliments. But just as she was about to bring the tea into the dining room, she heard her mother's last comment. She stopped short with a gasp of realization, feeling suddenly cold all over. _'A young girl is best off marrying an older man?' Oh, dear God…does she actually want me to MARRY the miller? He's a total stranger! _She stood by the kitchen door listening, her heart pounding, the tray in her hands forgotten.

"That does make sense," Monsieur Meunier said in response to Mme. Grognon, sounding even more thoughtful.

Rev. Grognon cleared his throat. "So, Monsieur Meunier," he said, overly casually, "tell me, how long have you been miller in this town? Is your business doing well?"

"Oh, yes, very well," Monsieur Meunier replied immediately. "I inherited the mill from my father. It's always turned a large profit. Of course, there's a lot of work involved in keeping it running, but I've never been afraid of hard work. The Lord helps those who help themselves, as they say."

"Very true," said Rev. Grognon approvingly. "Speaking of which, now that I think about it, I believe I've seen you at church every Sunday since we arrived here."

"Yes, I make it a point to never miss church," Monsieur Meunier said. "Besides, I need to pay my respects to my departed Marianne, called home before her time. I always say a prayer for her soul."

Rev. Grognon nodded. "Very honorable of you," he said.

Mme. Grognon hastened to add, "Of course, we always remember our dear departed! And yet, our loved ones would not want us to mourn _forever,_ don't you agree? Life must go on for the living. When one door closes, another opens."

"There is some wisdom in that," Monsieur Meunier acknowledged. "You're a very sensible woman, Madame."

"Thank you. My daughter is very sensible too – I raised her that way. Everyone says she has a wisdom and maturity far beyond her years," Mme. Grognon said smoothly. Then she belatedly realized that the daughter in question still hadn't returned from the kitchen. "Paige!" she called. "Is the tea ready yet? Do you need help in there?"

Paige had been hanging on every word from the kitchen, her heart in her throat, as her entire future was being discussed and decided without her. Now, at the sound of her name, she jumped, nearly spilling the tea.

"Coming, Mother!" she called nervously. She took a deep breath, steeling herself. All she wanted was to run to her room and hide. But she forced herself to enter the dining room, approaching the table slowly, each step a major effort. She was trembling so much, the teacups rattled. She stopped in front of their guest and stammered, "S-some tea, Monsieur?"

"Yes, thank you," he said, taking a teacup without even looking at it. Instead, he was staring at _her_, looking her up and down with a frank, appraising gaze that made her feel like livestock at the marketplace being judged by a farmer. She wished she could just sink into the floor.

"If I may say so, Mademoiselle, that's a very lovely dress," the miller said to her.

"Thank you, Monsieur," Paige said, trying to keep her voice from shaking.

Her father spoke up. "Paige? If you can tear yourself away from our guest, I'd like some tea too, you know!" he said with a smile.

Paige reddened again, mortified. She brought tea to her father, mother, and brother, then quickly sat down herself, grateful that she could focus on her own tea and not look at anyone.

Her father, seeing that she was self-conscious, turned the conversation to other subjects. Paige tried to calm herself. Nervously, she snuck a peek at Monsieur Meunier...her potential suitor. He seemed so...so _old, _and so serious, talking about business matters with her father. She tried to picture him as her husband, but her imagination failed her. He was a total stranger to her. She felt panic rising within her, and tried to hide it. Oh, would this evening _ever _end?

Finally, the tea and dessert were finished, and Monsieur Meunier rose to take his leave. "Thank you so much for your hospitality. This was a very enjoyable evening," he said to Rev. and Mrs. Grognon.

"It was our pleasure. Thank you for coming," said Rev. Grognon.

The miller turned to Paige with a bow. "My compliments on your excellent cooking, Mademoiselle. I hope I will someday have the pleasure of enjoying it again."

Mme. Grognon jumped at the opportunity. "Why not this Sunday, after church? We'd be delighted to have you come to dinner again. Wouldn't we, Paige?"

Trapped, Paige nodded. "Yes," she said, trying to be polite.

Rev. Grognon added heartily, "What a good idea! Are you available then, Monsieur Meunier?"

"Why yes, I would be delighted. Thank you," the miller replied, his eyes on Paige. "Until Sunday, then. Good night." With another bow, he took his leave.

Mme. Grognon was beaming. "Well, that certainly went well!" she said with satisfaction.

"It certainly did," Rev. Grognon agreed. "I must say, Paige, Monsieur Meunier seemed quite taken with you," he added with a wink.

"Yes..." Paige said faintly, trying to smile. "Mother, Father, I'm a little tired – may I go to bed now?"

"Of course, dear," her mother said. "You need to rest up from all the excitement. I'll walk up with you."

As they got to Paige's room, Mme. Grognon said, "I was very proud of you tonight, Paige. You were everything I could have hoped for. You made a VERY good impression on our guest, I could tell! He was very eager to come back to dinner this Sunday. And then we're seeing him the following week...why, I wouldn't be at all surprised if you became the next Madame Meunier before your next birthday!"

"So soon?" Paige said, feeling faint.

Mme. Grognon patted her hand. "I know, it must seem incredible to you that you could make such a splendid match so quickly! But trust me: important men like that don't waste time. Once they make up their minds to do something, they DO it. No waffling and dilly-dallying for them! You'll see. Soon your future will be all settled! Won't that be grand?" Delighted by the thought, she beamed. "We'll have to plan a fine wedding, that's for certain. A man like Monsieur Meunier will want only the best. Oh, there's so much to plan..."

"Shouldn't we wait to see if he really _does _want to marry me?" Paige said hastily. "Maybe...maybe he doesn't like me that much after all. Maybe he was just being polite."

Mme. Grognon shook her head. "Oh, he liked you all right. I can tell. Don't worry about a thing, Paige. You'll be married before you know it!" She smiled. "Now, you get some rest. We want you looking fresh and healthy when Monsieur Meunier sees you next! Good night, dear."

"Good night," Paige said softly, closing the door.

In bed, Paige lay awake, her thoughts in a whirl. _Is that man really going to be my HUSBAND?_ she thought.It was impossible to imagine.

_Well, what did you expect? _she scolded herself. _Mother SAID she was going to look for a suitor. And you should be grateful that she did. If she didn't step in, you'd probably end up an old maid! Nicolas is gone, after all... _

The thought of Nicolas filled her with longing. She missed him so much! Those few weeks of visiting him at his shop and talking with him had been the bright spot of her entire existence. For the first time in her life, she had felt that someone truly _understood_ her. Nicolas had listened to her, really _listened_. He had genuinely cared about how she felt and what she thought. During that brief, shining time, she had felt that she wasn't alone...and oh, it was wonderful! She had loved being with him: seeing how his eyes lit up when she came into the shop, hearing his laughter, listening to his funny stories and the ideas that came tumbling out of his mouth a mile a minute. Their lively conversations had challenged her to think about things she'd never thought of before. For the first time in her life, she was allowed to form her own opinions and say them boldly right out loud, without fear. With Nicolas, she could finally be _herself _– a self she'd never even known existed.

_But he's GONE. Stop dwelling on the past! _she reprimanded herself. The memory of the Christmas party still made her cringe. The way her mother had screamed at him, the way he'd gone so pale and horrified...No young man would _ever_ willingly subject himself to a family like that. He was probably glad he'd found out now, before he got himself any further entangled with her. In fact, he was probably congratulating himself on his lucky escape.

Besides, her mother would _never_ have allowed her to continue seeing Nicolas, even if by some miracle he _had _still been interested in her. Her mother would rather lock her away in a tall tower or send her to a convent than have her tainted by contact with such a "heathen," as she called him. Any dream of marriage to Nicolas was just that...a dream that could never, ever come true.

Monsieur Meunier, however, was reality – a reality that her mother had set her mind on. Whatever her mother insisted on always came to pass, Paige knew. Before her next birthday, she would likely become the new Madame Meunier. She tried not to shiver at the thought. It sounded so _final: _her future sealed, no turning back.

_Maybe it's for the best, _Paige thought, feeling defeated. _He doesn't seem like a BAD man. He even says a prayer for his wife every week. I'm sure he wouldn't mistreat me or anything. He works hard and makes a good income and has a big house. Plenty of girls would jump at the chance to marry a man like him. I should be grateful he's even INTERESTED in someone as dull and plain as me. I should grow up, stop dwelling on silly "what ifs" and just accept him. _

Then she laughed ruefully as she realized what she was doing – weighing her options as though she actually had a _say_ in the matter. _Idiot! Why am I acting as though I even have a choice? It must have been all those talks with Nicolas. He always made me feel like my opinion matters. But the truth is, it DOESN'T. Mother and Father are going to decide my future – not me. There's nothing I can do about it. All I can do is wait for them to TELL me what the rest of my life is going be like._

Feeling helpless and trapped, she blinked back tears, trying not to think of Nicolas and what might have been. Finally she drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

At 6:00 the following evening, Monsieur Meunier was finishing his day's work. He went outside and locked up the mill. Being the middle of winter, it was already dark outside, and the miller's breaths made puffs of steam in the frigid air. Fortunately he didn't have far to walk; his home was next to the mill.

He entered his house. As always, it was dark and chilly, having stood vacant all day. Monsieur Meunier pulled his cloak closer around himself and hurried to the fireplace.

As he lit the kindling to get the fire started, the words of Mme. Grognon came into his mind: "It must be so lonely, a man at home by himself. I'm sure it would be nice for you to have a woman about this place." As intrusive as the woman had been...still, he had to acknowledge to himself that she did have a point. After a long exhausting day of backbreaking work at the mill, it _was _hard to come home to a cold dark house and immediately have to start the fire himself and cook his own dinner.

He hung a pot of water over the fire. As he waited for it to boil, he recalled the previous evening at the Grognons' home. It certainly had been a nice change to walk into a warm, clean house, have someone take his coat, sit down, and have a delicious meal set right in front of him.

The last time he'd experienced that simple pleasure was when Marianne was still here. She was a good cook, and the house had always been tidy and well-kept. Marianne had been a quiet, mature, practical woman. Like her husband, she wasn't one for idle chitchat -- she had quite enough of that at the marketplace, thank you very much, where the other women gossipped and chattered nonstop like magpies, giving her a headache. Meanwhile, Monsieur Meunier had to bear the loud grinding of the millstones all day. After a long noisy day, both of them cherished the peace and quiet of their home. They would eat their dinner in companionable silence, and afterwards, he would sit in his armchair and smoke his pipe, while she knitted in her rocking chair by the fire. Occasionally one or the other would make a comment, or remind the other of some errand that needed to be done the following day. But for the most part, words weren't necessary; they were in tune with each other, and they just relaxed, enjoying the restful silence, punctuated only by the crackling of the fire. They would turn in early for a good night's sleep, ready to rise again at dawn.

These days, the house was still silent, but now it was a solitary, empty silence. He missed Marianne's presence. And it was so tiring to do everything himself: the cooking, the cleaning, mending his own clothes, on top of his long days working at the mill.

Until now, he had simply accepted it as his lot in life. Naturally he had grieved for his wife, but it was God's will that she had been called home, and it was no man's place to question fate. Everyone had their troubles and burdens to bear, after all, and he bore his to the best of his ability, without complaint. That was life.

But now, he found himself thinking again of the dinner at the Grognons' home, and the obvious, unspoken message running throughout the meal: they were looking for a husband for their daughter. _Maybe it IS time I considered taking a wife, _he thought reflectively as he ate his plain boiled chicken and vegetables. _She's very young, true...but she seems to be a pleasant and well-behaved girl. And her cooking is certainly excellent – _here he smacked his lips, remembering the delicious roast and peach cobbler of the day before, so much more satisfying than the plain simple meals he was able to make for himself. _The house would always be clean, _he mused, looking around at the shelves that needed dusting.

The reverend's daughter was also a very quiet girl – why, she'd barely spoken at all during the meal! That suited Monsieur Meunier very well. After working hard all day, he wanted to relax. He didn't want a noisy, shrill chatterbox of a woman, nagging him and demanding he entertain her with long conversations. No. What he needed was a calm, quiet woman who would serve him dinner and then let him be, like Marianne...and Paige seemed to be exactly the same kind of girl, from what he could see.

_Yes, _he said, feeling an uncharacteristic stirring of excitement. _She could be just what my life is missing._

Never one for rash action, he pondered his next step. He was coming to dinner again on Sunday, and he had agreed to help Mme. Grognon and her daughter distribute the charitable donations the following week. That would give him a chance to observe the girl again and decide if he should, indeed, make her his wife. But from what he had seen, the situation was very promising...very promising indeed.

He realized that with all his thinking, it had gotten late. It was time for bed; he had another long day of work ahead tomorrow. But as he blew out the candle and went to sleep, his normally stoic face bore a rare smile, and his dreams were all pleasant ones.


	22. If I Can't Love Her

It was a morning in late January, a week and a half after Monsieur Meunier's first dinner at the Grognons'. Paige was handing him the latest basket of donated clothes as they made their rounds of the village for the charity drive.

"Merci, mademoiselle," Monsieur Meunier said to her with a smile and a bow. He lifted up the basket to add to the others on the wagon.

_He's certainly very polite, _she told herself. _That's good...isn't it?_ But the words were hollow. Ever since the dinner, she had been struggling to envision the miller as her husband, without success. As she looked at him now, she tried to picture herself standing up in church, pledging her life to this man forever and ever... But her whole being recoiled at that point. She had nothing _against _Monsieur Meunier. _But shouldn't I feel more for my husband than for a neighbor I've barely spoken to? How can I marry a stranger?_

She shook her head. _Stop thinking that way! _she berated herself for the hundredth time. _This is for the best. You KNOW it is. You can't have Nicolas, and who else would ever want you? You're LUCKY! Plenty of girls get married off to men who drink, or gamble, or beat them... Monsieur Meunier isn't like that. He's kind, and polite, and he makes a good living. You'd be a fool to turn him down. Not that you have any choice anyway, since Mother has her heart set on this marriage! But it's the best you're ever going to get. You don't want to be an old maid, do you?_

As she struggled to convince herself, Monsieur Meunier finished loading the clothes onto the wagon, while Mme. Grognon chatted with the family's housewife. Now the miller turned and spoke to the woman who donated the clothes. "That's all for this lot. Thank you for your contributions, madame. I'm sure the needy families of the village will appreciate it." He turned to Paige and offered her his arm. "Are you ready to go to the next house, my dear?"

"Yes," Paige said weakly, cringing a little inside at the endearment. Reluctantly, she took his arm.

Mme. Grognon smiled and said, "I'll just lead the horse and wagon – you two walk on ahead!"

"As you wish," Monsieur Meunier said with a bow of his head. He and Paige walked on without speaking.

After a minute or two, the silence began to make Paige uncomfortable, although Monsieur Meunier didn't seem to mind. Paige cleared her throat. "Do--do you have any hobbies, Monsieur Meunier?"

Monsieur Meunier looked surprised to hear her speak. "No, most of my time is spent at the mill. Occasionally I go fishing on a Sunday afternoon."

"Oh, you like fishing?" said Paige, trying to make conversation. "Have you caught a lot of big ones?"

Monsieur Meunier shrugged. "Mostly average."

"Oh," Paige said awkwardly. _Well, it's not like YOU have any fascinating hobbies either, _Paige told herself. _All you ever do is housework! _She tried again. "It must be very interesting, running a mill! What is it like?"

"It's hard work," he replied briefly. "But the mill does well. Last week I ground ten tons of corn."

Paige waited to hear more, but none appeared to be forthcoming. Monsieur Meunier seemed to have said all he cared to on the subject. Paige couldn't think of anything else to ask, so they lapsed back into silence.

She tilted her head slightly to look at the face of her future husband. He didn't even notice that she was examining him, looking for some clue as to who he was. But all she saw was a stoic, expressionless face that matched the precise cadence of his walk, every step the same length. She had no idea what he was thinking, or indeed if he was thinking anything at all.

She sighed. She couldn't help contrasting him with Nicolas, who always seemed to be in motion, talking a mile a minute, all his feelings playing out on his expressive face. She remembered all the lively stories Nicolas used to tell her when she entered the glassblowing shop. All she had to say was "How's work?" and immediately he would be off and running, regaling her with amusing anecdotes about unreasonable customers, or sharing his pride at creating a particularly challenging piece, explaining step by step how he'd made it. How she missed listening to him! Her heart ached every time she thought of him.

She wondered what Nicolas was doing right now...if he ever thought of her...

_If he does, it's probably just to remember that Christmas party and be glad that he NEVER has to deal with my mother ever again, _she reminded herself sadly. _He's probably moved on to some other girl – someone whose family is THRILLED to have such a nice young man courting their daughter. It's hopeless. I have to just accept it and move on myself._

But she couldn't stop herself from missing him...

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

At that moment, Monsieur Vitrier, the glassblower, was looking critically at the pitcher in his hand. "Nicolas, this spout is off-center."

"Oh, I didn't see that," Nicolas said, taking the pitcher from him. "I'll re-do it."

His father frowned in concern. "Your work's been substandard for weeks now. What's wrong? Your mind always seems to be elsewhere lately."

"I know, I'll try to do better," Nicolas said with a sigh. He started to take the pitcher to the kiln to soften the spout so he could reshape it, but it slipped out of his hands and smashed on the floor. Nicolas shook his head ruefully. "Don't say it!" he said, holding up his hand. "I'll clean this up." He went to get the dustpan and broom and swept up the mess. "Don't worry, Pop. I'll start on a new pitcher right away."

His father put his hand on his arm. "Don't. Take a break."

"But that pitcher has to be ready this afternoon," Nicolas protested.

"The state you're in, you're no good to the shop – you'll just end up breaking the next one too!" Monsieur Vitrier pointed out, but his tone was kinder than his words. "Sit down. I want to talk to you."

Obediently, Nicolas pulled up a chair and sat down. "I'm sorry about all the mistakes, Pop."

"It's all right," his father said. He hesitated a moment, then went on. "I know it's none of my business, but what happened to that girl who used to come around here? The one you were sweet on? I haven't seen her in a while. What happened? Did she finally get sick of your harmonica playing?" he added, trying to lighten the mood.

Nicolas gave a wan smile. "I _wish _that's what it was. Then I could just stop playing and the problem would be solved."

"So...what IS the problem?" his father asked.

Nicolas stood up and started pacing. "The problem is that I'm a total idiot!" he suddenly burst out.

His father raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

Nicolas ran his hand through his hair, agitated. "At the Christmas party. I started telling her a story I read – just some silly story about these gods that were having a contest to see who could create the best planet. I thought it was funny. But Pop...Paige's father is the town _minister!_ How _could_ I tell her a story like that, without realizing it might offend religious people? I mean, just how stupid _am_ I?" He smacked his palm on his forehead to emphasize the point.

Monsieur Vitrier was concerned to see his son so upset. Nicolas was usually the most cheerful person around. "She was offended?"

"Oh, I don't know..." Nicolas said miserably, sitting back down. "She didn't _seem_ to be, but she didn't get a chance to tell me what she thought. I was in the middle of the story when her mother jumped in out of nowhere and started _screamin_g at me, saying I was blasphemous and a pagan and I don't know what else."

"Oh, my." That _was _awkward! His father looked at him sympathetically. "Why don't you talk to Paige about it?"

"I _want _to! I've been waiting and waiting for her to come by the shop again, so I can apologize," Nicolas explained. "But she hasn't come. It's been weeks and I haven't seen her at all. I keep watching her in church on Sunday, hoping to catch her eye, but she never looks at me." He sighed. "She's avoiding me. I don't know whether she hates me, or it's just that her mother does and won't let her talk to me. Either way, I'm sunk. I just don't know what to _do!" _

"Hmm. I'll tell you what you should do," Monsieur Vitrier said decisively. "Take today off and go spend time around the marketplace and see if she shows up. Tomorrow too, if you have to. Everyone has to do errands _sometime._ And when she turns up, go talk to her."

"Hey! That's a good idea!" Nicolas said, brightening. Then his face fell. "But if she's been avoiding me, she probably doesn't _want _to talk to me."

Monsieur Vitrier gave a snort of impatience. "For heaven's sake, boy, grow a backbone! You won't know till you _ask_ her, will you? Just talk to her and tell her how you feel. I saw how that girl looked at you when she used to come by here. If you ask me, she thinks the world of you."

"Do you think so?" Nicolas said hopefully.

His father shrugged. "If I'm wrong, and she tells you she never wants to see you again and to leave her alone...well, at least you'll _know, _and you can get over it. Then maybe you'll stop ruining all my glassware," he added dryly.

Nicolas grinned – the first real grin his father had seen in weeks. "Okay, Pop. I'll do it! I'll see you later!" Full of determination, he headed out the door.

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

Paige felt as though she and Monsieur Meunier been walking forever, the silence broken only when they stopped at a house to pick up some more clothes and food for charity. They had just put some more donations on the cart, and now they were back to walking.

As they approached the town square, she glanced around wearily, desperate to find some other topic of conversation. Her gaze passed over the village peddler, the fishmonger, a fruit stand, Nicolas--

Paige's whole body bolted upright. Nicolas was _here,_ right across the square! She froze at the sight of him, her breath catching in her throat. Then he looked up and unexpectedly their eyes met. Instantly her face grew hot and she quickly turned away, her heart pounding. _He saw me!__ What should I do? What CAN I do? My mother and Monsieur Meunier are right here!_

"Are you all right, my dear?" Monsieur Meunier asked with concern. "You look unwell."

Paige nodded and fanned herself. "I...I just have a bit of a headache," she told him. "May I go home now, please?"

"Of course!" Monsieur Meunier said immediately. "Here, come sit on the wagon so you don't have to exert yourself." He took her hand and led her back to the wagon, then turned to her mother. "Madame, Paige is unwell. We need to return home. We can finish picking up the clothes another day." He helped Paige onto the wagon.

"Certainly," Mme. Grognon said. "Don't mind me, I'll just sit in the back." She climbed onto the wagon and moved to the back with the merchandise, allowing Paige and Monsieur Meunier to sit side by side in the front.

Paige looked down at the floor, not wanting Monsieur Meunier to see her face. Just seeing Nicolas for an instant across a crowded square made her ache with longing. _Oh, if only I could talk to him! But who am I kidding? I'm sure he doesn't want anything to do with me after what happened at Christmas, _she thought miserably. _Besides, my mother would never, ever allow me to even go NEAR Nicolas! She hates him. Oh, what am I going to DO? _

As her mind raced, Monsieur Meunier clicked his tongue and jerked the reins, and the wagon rolled off to the Grognons' house.

O o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

Nicolas had been wandering around the town square, anxiously scanning the myriad of people there, hoping Paige would turn up. But when she finally did, he almost didn't notice her, not expecting to see her accompanying a man. His eye almost slid right past the miller walking arm in arm with a girl on the other side of the square.

But something about her made him look again. Their eyes unexpectedly met, and he realized with a shock that it was Paige! Before he could react, she gasped, reddened, and turned away. He saw her talk urgently to the miller in low tones. A moment later, the miller was helping her and her mother onto the wagon, and the next thing Nicolas knew, the wagon was rolling away, Paige studiously staring down as if to avoid seeing him again. Then she was gone.

Nicolas stared after them, his heart sinking like a stone. _Well...that's it, then, _he thought dully. _It's true. She IS avoiding me. Just the sight of me upset her so much she couldn't get out of here fast enough! _

Distraught and miserable, he ran towards home. All the way there, his thoughts berated him. _WHY did I ever tell her that stupid story? _he moaned inwardly. _Everything was going so well till then! Pop is right, I just run off at the mouth all the time like an idiot and don't even think about what I'm saying! Stupid, stupid! She deserves someone better, someone with SENSE in his head..._

_Someone like...the miller?_ Nicolas abruptly stopped short, suddenly realizing the significance of what he'd seen. Paige had been walking _arm in arm _with Monsieur Meunier._ Is she...with HIM now? Is it SERIOUS? _Nicolas chewed his lip anxiously, not knowing how to handle this sudden burst of jealousy. _I gotta talk to Pop – he'll tell me what to do!_

He rushed into the glassblowing shop, slamming the door behind him. His father jumped a foot at the sudden loud sound, dropping the bottle he was working on. It fell and smashed on the floor. Monsieur Vitrier swore. "Nicolas, you _know_ better than that! I've told you since you were two years old, you _never_ slam a door in a glass shop..."

He trailed off as he saw the look on Nicolas' face. Now was not the time for lectures, he realized. "What happened? Did you see your girl?"

"I saw her all right," Nicolas said, sitting down on a stool. "Pop...she was with Monsieur Meunier, the miller. They were walking _arm in arm! _Right out in public!" Monsieur Vitrier's eyes widened at that. Nicolas went on, "And when she saw me, she got all red and looked really upset, and she whispered to him, and they went off in a carriage. I didn't even get to say a word to her." Too agitated to sit still, he jumped up again and started pacing. "I've _got _to talk to her! But how?"

"Nicolas...I really don't think that's a good idea," Monsieur Vitrier said cautiously, turning over what his son had just told him. This news put a whole different spin on the situation.

Nicolas looked up at him in surprise. "But talking to her was _your_ idea! You said—"

"I know what I said. But that was before you told me about the miller," Monsieur Vitrier explained. He pulled up another stool and sat down, gesturing for Nicolas to sit as well. Nicolas obeyed. "Son...I know you're upset, but take a moment to stop and think about this. She was walking arm in arm in _public _with the miller. That means he's courting her, and she's letting all the world know it! They're _together._ Then when she saw you...how did she react? Was she happy to see you? Did she indicate that she wanted to talk to you? No. You said she looked _upset. _In fact, she rushed away before you could even have a chance to approach her! Right?"

"Well...yes," Nicolas had to admit. "But—"

"No 'buts'!" his father interrupted firmly. He continued, but in a gentler tone. "Nicolas...son...it's obvious to me now that she _doesn't _want to talk to you. She's clearly moved on and has a new suitor. You need to accept it and move on too."

Nicolas' shoulders sagged as he thought about everything his father had said. "I...I guess you're right," he said, sounding defeated.

Monsieur Vitrier patted Nicolas' shoulder. "Believe me, I know this is painful. I'm very sorry things worked out this way. But buck up! It's not the end of the world," he added, trying to be encouraging. "You're not the first man to suffer heartbreak, and you won't be the last. Mark my words, you'll find someone else in time. Someone who appreciates you."

Nicolas looked up at him with eyes as vulnerable as a child's. "But Pop...I want _her," _he said, softly and brokenly. Watching him, his father found himself flashing back to the terrible day he'd had to tell Nicolas that his mother had died. The boy's stricken face had worn the exact same expression of loss and hurt, as if he couldn't understand how life could be so unfair.

"It'll be all right," Monsieur Vitrier said with an assurance he didn't feel. "This too shall pass. In the meantime, why don't you make yourself useful and clean up that broken glass?" he added, gesturing at the broken bottle on the floor.

Nicolas nodded and went to get the broom. _I know he's right...but I just wish there was SOMETHING I could do! If only I could talk to Paige...But Pop's right, she's made it crystal clear that she doesn't want to see me. It's hopeless. _Sadly he swept up the broken glass, wishing he could sweep up the broken pieces of his heart so easily.


	23. Two Hearts Become One Now

_Note to self: Never, ever make promises or predictions about when the next update will be..._

_I am SO sorry for taking so long! I really thought I would have this chapter done much sooner, but, well...it didn't work out that way. I hope the fact that it's a long chapter will help make up for the delay a little. Also, please know that I am totally committed to this story and I love writing it, so even if it takes a while to update, there always WILL be an update eventually! (But I'll try hard not to take so long!)_

The next morning, Paige and her family were eating breakfast when there was a knock at the door. Paige answered it to see Monsieur Meunier, dressed in his finest clothes. "Good morning, my dear," he said, favoring her with a rare smile. "Are your father and mother at home?"

Mme. Grognon was at the door almost before the words were out of his mouth. "Monsieur Meunier! What a pleasure to see you!" she said, grinning ear to ear. "Please, come in!"

"Thank you," he said, entering. "Madame, I wonder if I might have a private word with you and your husband?"

"Of course!" Mme. Grognon bustled hurriedly into the kitchen, where Rev. Grognon and Luc were still at the table. "Eugene, Monsieur Meunier wants to talk with us. In private." She gave him a meaningful look.

Rev. Grognon sprang to his feet at once. "Certainly! Come into my study, Monsieur Meunier." The three adults went into the study and closed the door.

Paige sank down into her seat at the table, feeling doomed. This was it. Her future was being signed, sealed and delivered, without her even being in the room. She buried her head in her hands.

Luc, unconcerned about whatever was going on since it didn't involve him, took a bite of toast and frowned. "This toast is burnt!" he complained. "Paige, go make me some more."

"Oh, go make it yourself!" Paige snapped back.

Luc stared in amazement as if his sister had suddenly grown a second head. He opened his mouth to protest, but Paige glared at him so fiercely that he shut it again. He looked around, ready to tattle to his mother, but she was in the study with Monsieur Meunier. Shrugging, Luc meekly went back to eating his burnt toast.

It was the first time Paige had ever talked back to Luc, but she couldn't enjoy her triumph. Her stomach felt like it was full of cold lead.

Soon the study door opened, and her parents came out with the miller. All three were smiling. "Paige, we have the most wonderful news for you," Mme. Grognon said happily. "Monsieur Meunier has asked for your hand in marriage!"

They watched her expectantly, waiting for a reaction. Paige's mouth felt dry. She couldn't speak.

"Don't be shy, Paige," Rev. Grognon said encouragingly. "I know it's all a bit overwhelming. But it's true: the miller wants to marry you! What do you say?"

Mme. Grognon looked meaningfully at Paige and mouthed _Thank him!_ When Paige remained silent, she turned to the miller and said, "The poor girl is speechless with joy!"

"Ah, I see," Monsieur Meunier said, smiling. "That's all right. I like a quiet girl. My Marianne was quiet too – didn't believe in speaking unless she actually had something to say. So, when shall we make the wedding?"

"As soon as possible!" proclaimed Mme. Grognon. "I'll start making the arrangements at once."

"Very sensible," agreed Monsieur Meunier.

They were talking to each other as though Paige wasn't even there. They were planning out her entire future right in front of her, without her having a word to say about it!

As her parents and now-fiance talked eagerly about a wedding feast and flowers and whom to invite, Paige's head was spinning. Soon their voices blurred into an inaudible din of chatter. She saw her future playing out clearly before her: trapped in a loveless marriage, day after endless day of housework and silent meals, a lifetime prison sentence. She was starting to feel faint at the thought of spending the rest of her life with this man.

"STOP!" she screamed suddenly, not knowing she was going to do it until it happened. They all instantly fell silent, staring at her in shock.

Paige was just as shocked at herself as they were. Always self-conscious, she was mortified, her automatic instinct being to apologize for her unseemly behavior. _I could say I'm sorry and just sit down and be quiet like always. Then everyone would be happy…_

…_Everyone but me_.

At that thought, Paige stiffened visibly. _No!_ She felt an unexpected surge of defiance. She thought of Mimi, standing up to prove her archery skill at the contest and not letting anyone stand in her way. She thought of Nicolas, asking her opinions and listening as though what Paige thought and felt really mattered.

She drew herself up to her full height. _No. I won't do it. This is MY life!_ She looked at the others and steeled herself. "Thank you for your kind offer, Monsieur. But I..." She took a deep breath. "I can't marry you," she said finally, her voice clear and strong.

"What?" Monsieur Meunier said in disbelief. "For heaven's sake, why not?"

Mme. Grognon hastily interrupted. "She doesn't know what she's saying! She's in shock!" She rushed over to Paige and hissed, "Be quiet, child!"

"I'm not a child!" Paige protested. She turned to the miller. "Monsieur Meunier, I'm very flattered and honored by your proposal. But I just...I just don't harbor the feelings toward you that a woman should have toward a husband. I just don't think we'd be right for each other. I'm very sorry. I hope I haven't offended you."

"Offended?" Monsieur Meunier said, turning red. "I should say so!" Feeling thoroughly humiliated as well as disappointed, he turned angrily on Madame Grognon. "Madame, you led me to believe that your daughter would welcome my proposal! In fact, it was all your idea! I had never intended to remarry after my Marianne passed, but you sang your daughter's praises so effectively that I reconsidered. So I came here in good faith, to offer her security, a home, a promise to share my wealth and provide for her as well as anyone could, with your assurance that she would be delighted…only to be turned down!" He snatched his coat from the hook and jammed his hat on his head. "And now I will be on my way. I did not come here to be insulted!"

Paige was taken aback to see Monsieur Meunier so angry; he was usually such a calm man. As dismayed as she was, it also occurred to her that she'd never heard him speak so many words in a row before. _He must really be furious...and hurt_, she thought guiltily. If her mother had given him so many assurances, it was no wonder he was upset by her refusal.

She felt a rush of sympathy for him – he had been manipulated by her mother just as she had been. He was a good man, and didn't deserve to be used that way. "I'm so sorry, Monsieur Meunier! I didn't mean to insult you!" she said desperately. She certainly had not wanted to hurt him. "I think you're a fine man, truly! You are very kind and considerate, and I'm really very grateful for your generous proposal. I'm sure you will find a wonderful wife who is far better suited for you than I!"

The miller completely ignored her stammered apologies as he headed for the door. All he wanted was to get out of this awkward, embarrassing situation and pretend it had never happened.

Mme. Grognon wrung her hands and followed him, putting her hand on his arm to stop him. "Please, monsieur, don't go! She's confused...let me just have a talk with her..."

"No," Monsieur Meunier said firmly, shaking off her hand with distaste. "If I ever do remarry, it will be to a woman who is _happy _at the prospect of becoming my wife. I am not a man who would force an unwilling girl to marry me under protest! What do you take me for, madame? The proposal is withdrawn. Permanently." He gave Paige a curt nod, then left without another word.

Paige let out a sigh of relief when he was gone. Suddenly, she was filled with a joyous sense of freedom. _I actually did it!_ she thought with wonder. _I said 'no' to what they wanted me to do! _

But her relief was short-lived as her mother whirled on her in a fury. "Paige! How COULD you do such a thing? Have you taken leave of your senses? You'll never find another match as good as that, not in a million years!"

Paige unconsciously took a step back in the face of her mother's wrath. "But I don't _love_ him, Mother!" she protested. "Please try to understand! I don't want to spend my life with him!"

"Would you rather spend your life alone?" Mme. Grognon snapped back. "Because that's what will happen, you know!"

Rev. Grognon had stood gaping during the whole scene. Everything had happened so fast, he had been too stunned to react. Now, however, he tried to step in. "Now, now, Mathilde. Try to calm down. I know it was a good match, but it's Paige's life. If she really feels that strongly that she doesn't want to marry Monsieur Meunier, let it be. I'm sure there'll be other suitors—"

"No, there _won't!"_ Mme. Grognon wailed, wringing her hands. "Once word gets out that she's turned up her nose at a fine man like Monsieur Meunier, the whole town will be gossipping! They'll say she's putting on airs and being too picky, thinking she's better than everyone else!"

Paige couldn't help being frightened by that thought. With the miller gone, she'd expected that to be the end of the matter. She felt a knot in her stomach at the thought of the whole town pointing and whispering about her, the way they'd done to Mimi after the fair.

"All the men will stay well clear of you after this, mark my words!" Mme. Grognon went on hysterically. "You'll be an old maid…oh, the shame of it all! And then once we're gone, who will take care of you? You'll have to take in other people's washing and sewing just to make ends meet…Or maybe Luc will be kind enough to take you in, and you can keep house for him and watch _his_ children, once he has some…"

Paige shuddered, starting to get really terrified. The thought of spending her future slaving for her brother was the worst fate she could imagine!

"If you had any sense, you'd go back to Monsieur Meunier and beg him to take you back!" Mme. Grognon insisted. "Tell him it was just a bride's jitters, but now you've come to your senses!"

That snapped Paige back to the present. "NO!" she said firmly. "I am not going to marry him!"

Mme. Grognon threw up her hands in frustration. "Foolish, defiant girl! Go to your room at once!"

Paige couldn't take it any more. Overwhelmed with stress and emotion, she burst into tears. _I have to get out of here! _

Without another word, she rushed to the door and pushed her way outside. Behind her, she could hear her mother shouting, "Paige! Where do you think you're going? Come back here at once!" and her father saying futilely, "Look, if we all calm down I'm sure we can discuss this like reasonable people…" She didn't want to hear any of it. She ran as fast as she could, blinded by tears, not caring where she was going as long as it was away.

O o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

Standing on the road, Nicolas looked up at Paige's house and swallowed nervously. The modest house appeared to him as forbidding as an inpenetrable fortress. _What am I DOING?_ he asked himself for the fiftieth time. _Pop is right: this is stupid. I'm just going to make a fool of myself AND get everyone mad at me!_

He had lain awake all night, tossing and turning, thinking of Paige and going over everything in his head: the time they'd spent together, the Christmas party, the shock of seeing her with the miller, his father's advice.

No matter how many times he went over it, he kept coming to two conclusions:

1) His father was right. The sensible thing to do was to follow his advice and leave Paige alone.

2) He would never be able to sleep again if he followed his father's advice.

He _had_ to talk to Paige, no matter what the consequences.

Unable to sleep, he finally got up at dawn…then paced around the house for a few hours, knowing that bothering Paige's family before breakfast would make himself look even worse. He knew that the very idea of going over there was foolish – but he just couldn't help it. _I HAVE to talk to her. I just have to! If she tells me to go away, it will hurt, but at least I'll have told her how I feel, and I'll know for sure. _

So, firmly resolved, he'd gone over there. It was a relief to actually be _doing_ something, right or wrong – being a man and taking action instead of just staying at home fretting.

But now that he was actually _here,_ looking up at her house…his courage seemed to evaporate. What on earth could he say to her_?_

As he rehearsed various phrases in his mind, the door unexpectedly opened, and a figure came rushing out. Nicolas' heart almost stopped. It was Paige!

With no idea what he was going to say, he stepped forward into her path.

O o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

Paige didn't know or care where she was going – she only knew she had to get away. She rushed down the walk, her head down, blinded by tears.

Suddenly she smacked HARD into something solid. An instant later, she was lying flat on her back on the ground, stunned.

A shadow fell over her. She looked up and gasped. _Nicolas_ was looking down at her! She was too amazed to speak. _Am I dreaming?_

"Oh my gosh! Are you all right? Can you stand up?" Nicolas was saying anxiously. He knelt next to her, helping her sit up, and scanned her face, his eyes widening with alarm at the sight of the tears on her cheeks. "Oh! You're crying! Here…" He took out his handkerchief and gently wiped her face. "Paige, what's wrong? Are you hurt?"

After everything that had happened that day, all the stress and yelling and emotion…his kindness dissolved whatever self-control she had left. She burst into tears again. "The miller asked me to m-m-marry him!" she sobbed.

Nicolas went pale. "He…he did?"

Paige nodded. She looked up at Nicolas. Her voice grew stronger and more determined. "But I turned him down. I don't _want_ to marry him!" She wiped her eyes. "But Mother had this match all planned, and she's absolutely furious with me!"

Nicolas almost sagged with relief, and his face broke into a huge smile. "Oh, good!"

Paige frowned in confusion. Seeing her look, he said hastily, "No! I mean…it's not good that your mother's mad at you! That came out wrong! It's just…" He gazed into her face. "Oh, Paige, I'm so glad you're not getting married!"

She stared at him, her heart quickening. Was it possible…? "You…you are?" she said, hardly daring to breathe.

He nodded. "That's why I came here. I needed to talk to you. See, the thing is, Paige…I love you!" He stopped short, looking embarrassed. "Um…I didn't mean to just blurt it out like that," he said apologetically. "I was going to be, you know, _smooth _about it, kind of lead up to it—"

"You do?" Paige said, too overcome with wonder to hear anything after those words.

"Yeah." He searched her face, trying desperately to read her reaction. "And listen, about the Christmas party—"

Paige winced at that memory. That awful Christmas party!

Seeing her looking upset, Nicolas plunged on hurriedly. "I just wanted to tell you I'm sorry. It was so stupid of me to tell that story! I don't blame you at all for being mad at me. But I didn't _mean_ to offend anyone, honest! I just wasn't thinking."

Paige was stunned. He was blaming _himself _for that night? "Nicolas, it wasn't your fault! I _liked_ your stories – they were funny! And they made me think." She sighed. "It's just my mother – she overreacts to everything! I couldn't _believe_ how rude she was to you! I was so ashamed. I was sure you wouldn't want anything to do with me after that."

"What? How could you think that? I always liked being with you!" Nicolas said. "Is that why you never came by the shop after that? I thought you were mad at ME."

"Oh…" Paige touched his arm. "I'm so sorry! I didn't realize…I never meant to hurt you!" She shook her head. "If only we'd talked sooner! I've been so miserable all this time. I missed you so much."

"I missed you too," Nicolas said, looking into her eyes. "I've been a wreck at the shop – I couldn't concentrate at all."

"I couldn't concentrate on anything either," she said, gazing back at him. She felt like she could look into his eyes forever, drinking him in after so long. "Oh, Nicolas…I love you too. When I'm with you, I feel…alive. Like I've been sleeping all my life, and being with you woke me up." She smiled. "As though my whole life, I've been waiting for you."

That did it – he couldn't resist. He put his arms around her and gently touched his lips to hers.

She closed her eyes. _So this is how it feels to be kissed by someone you love._ It was the sweetest moment of her life. She wanted it to go on forever.

Finally, he drew back and grinned at her. "Well, Pop will sure be glad we worked this out. He says I'm going to put him out of business, the way I've been messing up lately!"

Paige laughed. "That definitely sounds like your father." Her smile faded. "But…what about _my_ parents? What are we going to do?"

Nicolas' face fell. "Oh…right. Your parents." He looked up at the house and gulped. Then he looked back at her. "Well…if you could stand up and tell them you won't marry the miller, I can march up there and tell them about us," he said determinedly. He took her hand. "Come on."

They went up to the house, then hesitated, looking at each other nervously. "Let me go in first," Paige offered. "I should face them first before I introduce you."

"All right," said Nicolas. "If you think that's best." He waited tensely on the doorstep as Paige opened the door.

Cautiously she entered the house. She could hear her mother in the kitchen, ranting to her father. "I just can _not_ understand what's gotten into that girl! Paige was always such a _good_ girl, so respectful and obedient. I ask you: what did I ever do wrong? All I ever tried to do was be a good mother to her! I worked so hard to arrange the perfect match for her – the kind of match every girl dreams of! All she had to do was say 'yes,' and she would be set up for the rest of her life!" Paige peered around the corner into the kitchen to see her mother throwing up her hands in exasperation. "You would think she'd _appreciate _all the time and effort I spent ensuring her future!"

She grabbed a dishrag and started drying the dishes. "All this time, Paige seemed perfectly amenable to him. Everything was going splendidly. But on the very morning of his proposal, she suddenly REJECTS him! Out of the blue, with no warning at all!" Mme. Grognon sat down abruptly, fanning herself. She looked up at her husband. "Eugene, how could she _do_ this? She's insulted one of the most respected men in town, she's made _me_ look like a fool, and she's destroyed her entire future! How could she be so ungrateful, after everything I've done for her?"

"Now, now, try to compose yourself. It's not the end of the world," Rev. Grognon said, ineffectually patting her shoulder.

Paige felt a pang of guilt. _Maybe I should have told Mother sooner that I didn't like Monsieur Meunier, before things went so far, _she thought. _But…I just know she wouldn't have LISTENED! She would have said it was just "a bride's jitters." _She sighed. Everything was such a mess…

As she tried to compose her thoughts, her mother suddenly spied her. "Paige! So, you're back." She dried her hands on her apron and stepped forward. "Well. I hope this means you've come to your senses!"

Her father smiled in relief. "I'm glad you came back. You seemed so upset before! Now we can talk things over calmly. Everything will work out fine, I'm sure."

Paige braced herself. "Mother, Father…there's someone I want you to meet." She turned back toward the front doorway, where Nicolas was hovering just outside, and waved him in.

Nicolas entered and smiled tentatively at her parents. "Good morning, Reverend Grognon, Madame Grognon," he said respectfully.

Mme. Grognon stared at him. "YOU! What are you doing here? Leave immediately!" she commanded. "This is a respectable home!"

Rev. Grognon was baffled. "Who is he?" he asked his wife in confusion.

"_This_ is the scoundrel who was saying all those shocking, blasphemous things to Paige at the Christmas party!" Mme. Grognon said sternly. She glared at Nicolas and Paige. "Why is he here, Paige?" she demanded, her expression darkening. "What have you been doing behind my back? Has this boy been leading you astray, filling your head with evil thoughts? Is THAT why you turned down that nice Monsieur Meunier?"

Wincing, Nicolas took a hasty step backward under the onslaught of words. "It's--it's not like that…" he protested in dismay.

"Mother, Father, just _listen _to him!" Paige said desperately.

"I have absolutely _no_ interest in listening to anything this blasphemer has to say, and neither should you, Paige," Mme. Grognon said firmly. "Young man, leave my house at once. And Paige, go to your room!"

"But Mother—"

"_Go to your room!" _

"THAT'S ENOUGH!" thundered Rev. Grognon in the loudest voice anyone had ever heard him use. The room fell silent as everyone turned to stare at him. He looked around at them all, cleared his throat, and said in a calmer tone, "Now then. I don't know what's going on here, but personally, Mathilde, I would like to find out! Paige obviously has something important she wants to discuss with us, and I for one want to hear what she has to say…_uninterrupted," _he added sternly as Mme. Grognon opened her mouth to disagree. "Now, I am going to take Paige and this young man into my study and have a long talk with them. If you can sit quietly and listen _without_ interrupting, you are welcome to be part of the discussion. But if you can't control yourself, then you can just go make us some tea and let us talk in peace. Is that understood?"

Mme. Grognon was speechless for a moment. "Well, I never…" she muttered under her breath in a disgruntled tone.

"Well?" Rev. Grognon said firmly. "Which will it be?"

Mme. Grognon threw up her hands. "Fine. No one wants to hear what a concerned mother has to say. I'll just sit quietly and let my daughter ruin her life, thanks to some sweet-talking scoundrel—"

"I said _without _interrupting," Rev. Grognon reminded her.

Glaring at him, she nodded and went into the study, holding her head high.

Rev. Grognon smiled apologetically at Paige and Nicolas and gestured at the study. "Come in and sit down, and we'll get all this sorted out," he invited.

Feeling a bit more encouraged, the two young people entered the study and sat down, Nicolas trying to ignore Mme. Grognon's glare.

"Now then—" Rev. Grognon began calmly.

"I want to know _exactly_ what this boy has been doing with my Paige behind my back!" Mme. Grognon burst out angrily. "How do you even _know_ him, Paige? Why were you keeping it a secret? No _honorable_ boy sneaks around with a girl secretly!"

"Mathilde…" Rev. Grognon started to admonish. Then he paused. "Actually…my wife has a point," he said, looking more sternly at Nicolas. "Paige, how DO you know this young man?"

Paige prayed that her father would understand. "Nicolas works in the glass shop – his father owns it," she explained. "I went in to order some glasses, and we just started talking. That's all."

Nicolas nodded, picking up the story. "We got along really well. Then when the glasses were ready, she came to pick them up, and we talked some more…and then after that, if she was doing errands and happened to pass by the store, she'd sometimes stop in to say hello. But my father was always there," he added quickly. "And the storefront is glass, anyone could see us there talking. We _weren't_ sneaking around!"

"I see…" Rev. Grognon mused. "Well, I have to say, it all sounds innocent enough…"

"_Innocent!_ Hardly!" scoffed Mme. Grognon. "Why don't you tell my husband all the vile, blasphemous things you said to my daughter at the Christmas party?" she challenged Nicolas.

"Oh. The Christmas party." Nicolas gulped nervously. "Look…I'm really sorry about that."

Rev. Grognon frowned, looking from his wife to Nicolas. "What exactly _did_ you say to her?"

"Well, see…I had read this story," Nicolas explained. "It was about…" He hesitated, not sure how the minister would take it. "About some gods who had a contest to see who could make the best planet. One god made Earth, and the others were telling him everything that was wrong with it. When I read it, I thought it was…well, funny," he admitted. "I thought it would make Paige laugh. I didn't realize it could be taken as offensive. I mean, I see it _now," _he added hastily. "I completely understand why you were upset, Madame Grognon! And I'm sorry. But believe me, I didn't _mean_ to offend anyone. Honest!" he said, looking anxiously at Rev. Grognon.

"Ah." Rev. Grognon turned that over in his mind. "Well…speaking as a clergyman, I certainly can't condone such a story. But it was obviously just an error in judgement on your part – youthful folly, as it were. I don't see any malice in it, and it's clear to me that you've learned a lesson from it."

"Oh, yes, sir!" Nicolas said, nodding vigorously.

"Good. I'm glad to hear it," Rev. Grognon said approvingly. "Then we'll say no more about it." Nicolas sighed with relief. Mme. Grognon looked miffed, but didn't say anything. Rev. Grognon went on, "Now that we're all up to date…why did you come here today, young man?"

Nicolas took a deep breath and looked Rev. Grognon in the eye. "Well, sir…I'd like your permission to court your daughter."

Mme. Grognon burst out, "Well, _that's_ certainly a bold request, coming from a boy we've never even _heard _of before today!" She looked at Paige. "Is that why you turned down that exemplary Monsieur Meunier? Did _he _talk you out of it?"

Rev. Grognon sighed in exasperation. "Mathilde, _please._"

Paige spoke up. "No, Mother," she said, her voice steady. "I had feelings for Nicolas, but I didn't know he felt the same way. And after what happened at the Christmas party, I was sure he wouldn't even want to talk to me anymore! When you arranged things with Monsieur Meunier, I _tried _to convince myself that marrying him was the right thing to do. I really did. But I…I just couldn't. He's just not _right _for me, Mother! I'd be unhappy my whole life if I married him! That's why I had to say no. Please understand! It was the hardest thing I've ever done, but it was the right thing."

Rev. Grognon stared at Paige in utter amazement. His daughter had always been such a quiet, meek little thing, her voice rarely above a whisper, when she spoke at all. To hear her speaking out so strongly about her feelings impressed him deeply. "I can see that you've given this a lot of thought, and that it took a lot of courage to make that decision," he said, patting her hand. "Of course we wouldn't want you to marry someone who would make you unhappy."

"Thank you, Father," Paige said gratefully.

Rev. Grognon gestured at Nicolas. "So…you would prefer this young man? Is that it?"

"Oh, yes!" Paige said eagerly. "He's _wonderful,_ Father. You'll see, once you get to know him!"

Rev. Grognon laughed. "I look forward to that." He smiled at Nicolas. "Well, you seem to be a decent young man from what I can see, and my daughter is obviously very taken with you. But what are your prospects? I want to make sure that my daughter will be well-provided for."

"Well, I'm very good at glass-making," Nicolas said. "My father's been training me since I was a little kid, and as soon as I finished school I went to work in the shop full-time. We do a good business, and I'm going to inherit it eventually – hopefully not for a long time, though!" he added, thinking about his father.

Rev. Grognon nodded. "I'll have to make some inquiries around town, you understand – make sure that you're a young man of good character. And I'll be wanting to talk with your father as well. I'm not going to entrust my only daughter to just anyone! But I can tell you right now that you've made a good impression on me. So, if everyone tells me you're an honest and hard-working lad, as I'm sure they will, then you have my consent to court Paige."

Paige let out an uncharacteristic squeal and threw herself at her father. "Oh, thank you, Father!" she cried, hugging him tightly.

Rev. Grognon was again surprised by his formerly reserved daughter's actions, but he was pleased. Paige had never looked so happy before! That alone told him he was doing the right thing. He patted her back. "You're welcome, daughter. I only want the best for you, you know that."

Nicolas let out a huge breath of relief. That had been the scariest ordeal of his life! He held out his hand, and Rev. Grognon shook it. "Thank you, sir," Nicolas said with heartfelt gratitude. "I'll do everything I can to make her happy."

"I'll hold you to that," Rev. Grognon said with a smile.

Sitting to the side almost ignored, Mme. Grognon was deeply upset and outraged that the decision about her daughter's future was being taken entirely out of her hands, after all the time and effort she'd put into arranging a good match. Of course, as Paige's father, Eugene did have the ultimate authority over the decision of whom she married, but still…Mme. Grognon just couldn't _believe _her husband was falling for the boy's "innocent" act! It was glaringly obvious to her that Paige was making a terrible mistake. It was the parents' responsibility to choose appropriate husbands for their daughters; young people were too inexperienced and emotional to make such an important decision on their own. Yet Eugene was allowing their daughter to do just that, with a boy who was clearly NOT trustworthy!

_All this pretense of merely having chance encounters, claiming they weren't sneaking around – poppycock! _she thought. _Paige and this boy obviously have spent a great deal of time together if he's already asking to COURT her – yet she's never even MENTIONED his name to us, not even once! That's what I call sneaking around with a boy and keeping it secret! Obviously they had something to hide. How can Eugene not see what's staring him right in the face? _

She shook her head. _And this boy has obviously been having a negative influence on our sweet Paige – it's all so clear to me now. She was always so good and obedient…but now suddenly she's keeping secrets from me, defying me, becoming bold and outspoken and disrespectful…and it's all this boy's doing! He's been filling her head with evil thoughts, leading her into temptation and encouraging her to rebel against me. And no surprise: anyone who would tell such a vile story to a young girl and think it's FUNNY is obviously a boy utterly lacking in respect for authority. Eugene is a fool to allow him to court our daughter! But he always WAS too trusting, always believing the best of people and letting them take advantage of him…_

As she fumed, Paige came over and said hesitantly, "Mother, I know you wanted the miller for me, and I truly do appreciate all the work you did trying to find me a husband. But I love Nicolas, and he loves me. Please, _try _to be happy for me!"

_How can I be happy when you're throwing your life away on a boy who's unworthy of you? _Mme. Grognon thought. She took a moment to compose herself before speaking. "Your father has given his consent, so obviously I have no say in the matter. You've made your bed, so now you'll have to lie in it. I only hope that you WILL be happy and that you won't live to regret your decision." That was the best she could do. She couldn't bring herself to congratulate the happy couple when she was sure it was a grave mistake.

Seeing the exchange, Nicolas came up to her. "Madame, I, uh, know we got off on the wrong foot, but I want you to know that I love Paige more than anything, and I really hope I can win your approval."

_I bet you do, _Mme. Grognon thought sardonically. "That remains to be seen," she said stiffly. "I will certainly be watching you closely to make certain you live up to your promises."

He nodded vigorously. "Of course! You're her mother, you _should _want to make sure her husband treats her well!" He smiled at Paige. "I'm going to spend my whole life giving her anything she wants and doing everything I can to make her happy. You'll see."

Rev. Grognon smiled at the boy's enthusiasm. "I'm sure you will."

"Oh!" Nicolas said suddenly in realization. "I have to tell Pop! Can Paige come with me?"

"Of course," Rev. Grognon said. "Oh, and ask your father if he'd like to come to dinner this Sunday. I think we should all get to know each other better, don't you?"

Nicolas grinned. "Sure! Thanks, Reverend Grognon!" He took Paige's hand. "Come on!" The two of them ran out of the house hand in hand.

Rev. Grognon smiled to see them go. "Ah, young love." He turned to his wife. "Well, Mathilde, I know you don't approve, but I feel in my bones that this young man is perfect for our Paige. Just look how happy she is!"

"She's happy _now,_ but what does the future hold?" Mme. Grognon said ominously.

Rev. Grognon fought the urge to roll his eyes. "Now, Mathilde, don't be so glum. Just think: you were so worried that she'd be an old maid if she turned down the miller. But look -- she's got a new suitor the very same day!"

"Well...That IS true…" acknowledged Mme. Grognon. Despite herself, she cheered up a little at that idea. For once, Eugene actually had something useful to say, she thought. "Having _two _men vying for her hand can only raise her status in the village," she mused. "And at least she won't be a spinster, that's certainly some comfort…"

"There you go!" Rev. Grognon said encouragingly. He didn't care what aspect of the situation elevated Mme. Grognon's mood, as long as she ended up at least a _little _bit glad at the turn of events. Maybe now he wouldn't have the happy occasion ruined by having to listen to her ranting and complaining all night, he thought hopefully.

Meanwhile, outside the house, Nicolas suddenly stopped and turned to Paige. He was grinning from ear to ear, unable to contain his happiness. "Can you _believe _it, Paige? We really did it!" He embraced her, almost lifting her off her feet. "We get to be together forever now!"

"Together forever…" Paige practically glowed at that thought. Was it really only that morning that her future had looked as bleak and final as a prison cell? It was unbelievable. Now the future stretched out ahead of her – ahead of _them _– as bright and full of endless possibility as a summer day.

Impulsively, she kissed Nicolas, savoring the moment. "You know…I dreamed of doing that the first time I ever met you."

"Really?" Nicolas said, flattered.

Paige nodded. "I thought you were the nicest, funniest, most charming boy I'd ever met in my life. I think I fell in love with you right then and there. Of course, I never imagined I ever actually _would _get to kiss you!" She sighed happily. "Oh, Nicolas…it's like a dream come true!"

"I know, it's incredible!" Nicolas said. He grinned. "And you hereby have my full permission to kiss me any time and anywhere the mood strikes you."

Paige smiled back. "I'll make a note of that." She took his hand again. "Come on. Let's go tell your father the good news!"

Laughing like children from the sheer joy of it all, they ran through the village, hand in hand and side by side.


	24. Seems Like Old Times

_Author's Note: I'm honestly embarrassed even to be writing an Author's Note, after such a long delay...what can I say? I'm sure everyone's forgotten all about this story by now! I'm really sorry to have taken so long. This past year was very eventful for my family, and fanfiction got put on the backburner for a while. I'm going to try to update more regularly, but I'm not going to make any promises because they always seem to get broken! What I CAN promise is that I AM totally committed to this story, and even if it sometimes takes a while to update, please know that I have NOT abandoned it and it WILL get finished!_

_Now, I have something lovely to show you: a truly stunning illustration for this story, done by my uber-talented friend Alex: _

_http: // i42 . tinypic . com/2vafad0 .jpg (but without the spaces)_

_Isn't that gorgeous? It doesn't represent any specific chapter; it's just a typical outing for the Avenants. I'm SO thrilled with it! (She has a DA gallery under the name Madam-Marla, btw; this particular picture isn't on there, because she generally doesn't do Disney stuff, but she does have a lot of lovely original pieces there!)_

_And now, the chapter! It has a bit of wrapping-up of the Paige/Nicolas subplot from last chapter; a teaser about Bunny and Suzette; and then the rest is all about Gaston, Belle and family. (No prince this time, sorry! This chapter was already WAY too long! But I'll try to get him in soon!)_

_o o o o o o o o _

The months passed. Winter turned into spring, and then into summer. In June, Nicolas and Paige were married. The proud papas, Monsieur Vitrier and Rev. Grognon, beamed delightedly, congratulated each other on their admirable offspring, commiserated over how quickly children grew up, and raised many a toast to the happy couple.

Mme. Grognon sat through the whole ceremony with gritted teeth, certain that her daughter was making a terrible mistake. Before the wedding, the normally mild-mannered Rev. Grognon had taken her aside and made it absolutely clear that she was not to do or say _anything _to mar the couple's joyous day. It was so unlike her husband to speak forcefully to her that on the rare occasions he did, she knew he meant it. But it took a supreme effort for her not to cry out when he asked from the pulpit if there were any reason why this couple should not be wed. He actually flashed her a warning look at that moment, knowing her feelings all too well.

Of course a daughter's marriage was a blessing and something to celebrate...but any happiness Mme. Grognon felt was undermined by the gloomy certainty that the groom was highly untrustworthy and not at _all_ deserving of her precious child. After the ceremony, she managed to graciously accept the guests' congratulations, while muttering darkly to herself that only time would tell.

Then Mme. Grognon heard pounding footsteps. Turning, she was startled to see Nicolas running straight toward her. For one terrifying second, she thought her new son-in-law was actually about to mow her down.

What he did was almost worse: he threw his arms around her and gave her a huge bear hug, lifting her right off her feet and squeezing her so tightly the breath went right out of her. She stiffened, utterly appalled at the intimate contact. Did the boy have NO sense of decorum at all?

"Thanks so much for bringing Paige into the world!" he shouted happily in her ear, making her wince. He was always so _loud. _"She's wonderful! And I promise you, I will devote every single day of my life to making her happy!"

Mme. Grognon gingerly detached herself from his enthusiastic embrace. "Yes, well, that's very nice," she said, trying to be polite while subtly moving away. But he didn't take the hint and followed after her, assuring her over and over that Paige would be happy. He had obviously never heard of the phrase "Silence is golden." Mme. Grognon was getting a headache just listening to him. _The boy never stops talking! How will Paige stand it? _she thought. _I must get her some headache remedy to keep in the house...or perhaps a pair of earplugs..._

At that moment, the bride herself came up to them. She beamed at seeing her husband and mother in conversation. "I'm so glad to see you two getting along!" she said happily. "Mother, I know this wasn't what you originally wanted, but thank you so much for helping with the wedding and being here for me. It means a lot to me."

Mme. Grognon softened a bit. "Well, I _am_ your mother – it's only my duty," she said. "And I must say, my dear, you look radiant."

Paige blushed. "Thank you, Mother. I'm very happy."

_Yes, the wedding day is always happy...it's the years to FOLLOW that test your endurance, _Mme. Grognon thought grimly, but she bit her tongue to keep from saying the words aloud, and kept a phony smile pasted on all day until her face ached. But oh, it was a trial!

Mme. Grognon was not the only villager who was less than pleased about the wedding. In the back of the church, Monsieur Meunier was standing in a dark corner, wishing he were anywhere else but here. He'd seriously considered not coming at all, but since this was the wedding of the town minister's daughter, the whole _village _was here. If he alone were absent, people would have noticed, and that would have caused "talk." Monsieur Meuner hated "talk."

Nearby he heard three women chattering about the wedding…well, two of them were chattering. The third was the village seamstress, Helene Seul, a widow in her mid-30s.

One of the other women turned to her. "You're awfully quiet, Helene. Don't you have anything to say about the couple?"

Helene sighed. "I only wish them to have a long and happy life, and that at the end, they leave this world together."

The other two went back to their chattering and gossip. Helene moved away from them toward the back wall. Monsieur Meunier was started to realizing that she was weeping. No one else noticed. Uncertain what to do, he awkwardly held out his handkerchief to her.

She took it gratefully. "Oh, thank you, Monsieur Meunier. Please forgive me; I'm not usually like this. It's just that weddings remind me of my own wedding day. Daniel and I were so happy…but he was taken from me far too soon. I look at this young couple, just starting out, and all I can think is that I hope neither of them learns the sorrow of being left alone." She wiped her eyes.

"I understand," Monsieur Meunier commiserated. "My Marianne has been gone these past two years as well."

Helene nodded. "A lovely woman, Marianne was. A terrible loss." She sighed. "But that's how it goes. God joins a man and woman together, then tears them asunder. And we are left behind: cooking meals for one, sitting alone of an evening…It's hard sometimes, isn't it, monsieur?"

"It is that," Monsieur Meunier agreed, thinking of his cold empty house.

"My friends all tell me to remarry, but how can I?" Helene went on. "No man wants a bride of 34…not when he can have his pick of all the fresh young girls looking for husbands."

Monsieur Meunier glanced at her sharply, wondering if she knew of his own humiliating mistake over a young girl. But he could see from her face that she didn't. She was thinking only of her own situation – condemned to a life alone, with no prospect of relieving that loneliness.

She sighed again and returned his handkerchief. "Thank you for being kind enough to listen to my woes. I'll be heading home now. This is a celebration, and I don't want to mar anyone's happy mood. Good day, monsieur."

Monsieur Meunier watched her walk to the door. Then, impulsively, he said "Madame Seul?" She turned around. He nervously cleared his throat, hoping fervently that he wasn't making another mistake. "I'm-I'm heading in that direction myself…Perhaps I could walk with you."

Helene brightened visibly. "That would be very nice! And if you'd like to stop in for a moment, I could offer you some blueberry pie – I baked it just yesterday."

"I'd like that very much," Monsieur Meunier said, and accompanied her out the door.

O o o o o o o

Over at the Avenant house, the spring had brought many birthdays. Alain was now 15, Georges 12, and Mimi 10. Lili would turn six in September.

"I wish MY birthday would come already!" Lili complained one day in late July. "It's taking so long!"

Belle smiled. "It will come soon enough, don't worry," she reassured her daughter. "Besides, before your birthday comes, we have something else fun to look forward to: our trip to Paris! And maybe we can even buy you a special birthday present while we're there!"

"Yay!" said Lili, jumping around.

At that very moment, over at the gunsmith's house, Bunny was braiding her daughter's hair, while her mind worked as quickly as her fingers. Bunny's scheming had not taken the summer off. As she expertly twisted Suzette's shining golden plaits, she mused, "You know...I think the time might be right to put the next phase of our Alain plan into action."

Suzette's eyes lit up. "Really?"

Bunny nodded, smiling. "Yes. It is time to invite him to dinner!" she proclaimed triumphantly

Suzette clapped her hands in delight. "And when he comes, _then _can I finally talk to him?" Over the last six months, Suzette had seen Alain around the village a number of times, and the sight of him always stopped her in her tracks. He seemed to grow more handsome every day! But then he'd notice her, and per her mother's instructions, she had to quickly ignore him and pretend to be flirting with another boy, or chatting away with her friends. Her mother said that she HAD to play hard to get if she ever wanted to get Alain. But, oh, it was torture!

"Yes. You can talk to him when he comes to dinner," her mother promised. "But I'll have to coach you first."

Suzette nodded vigorously. "Oh, yes, please!" _I'm so lucky to have a mama who knows so much about men! _she thought. _If I had to do this on my own, I'm sure I would mess it up. But with Mama guiding me, Alain will HAVE to fall in love with me!_

At the dinner table that night, Bunny laid her napkin on her lap with a ladylike flourish. "So...how is Alain getting on?" she casually asked her husband. "He's been working for you nearly a year now. Is he a big help to you in the shop?"

Armand nodded. "Smartest boy I've ever met! Hard worker, too."

"How _clever _you were to hire him!" Bunny cooed. "I wonder...since he's working so hard and being such a help to you, do you think we should invite him to dinner one night?"

"Hmm, not a bad idea," Armand mused. "He's a good lad, and I believe in rewarding hard work. Good thinking, dear."

Bunny lowered her eyelashes modestly. "Thank you, darling."

"But we'll have to make it soon," Armand went on, digging into his potatoes. "He'll be gone for three weeks starting August 1."

Bunny's face drained of all color. "Gone? What do you mean?"

"Gaston told me that Maurice is getting some kind of fancy inventing award or some such, in Paris—"

"Paris!" Bunny was aghast.

"Yes, Paris," Armand confirmed. "Apparently it's a big ceremony. So Gaston asked if I could spare Alain for a few weeks – he wants to bring the whole family, and it's a week's journey each way."

"And you said yes?" Bunny gasped.

"I did. Gaston promised me Alain will be back before hunting season starts, and he offered to pay me for the inconvenience." Armand shrugged. "Gaston's been my best customer for over 20 years. I couldn't very well refuse him."

"No, I suppose not," Bunny said distractedly.

"But no worries," Armand said briskly. "We can invite Alain to dinner next week, before he leaves."

"No!" Bunny said immediately. At her husband's surprised look, she explained hastily, "I mean...if he's going all the way to Paris for three whole weeks, he'll have a lot of packing to do...He'll be _much_ too busy to come to dinner. It would be better to invite him when he gets back. And then he can tell us all about his trip."

"All right, so we'll have him over in September then," Armand said unconcernedly.

Suzette couldn't understand why her mother was so flustered. Of course it was disappointing to put off the dinner, but her mother seemed _upset, _and that made Suzette anxious.

After dinner, when Armand had left the kitchen to smoke his pipe and relax while his wife and daughter washed the dishes, Suzette asked, "Mama, what is it? What's wrong?"

Bunny paced the kitchen. "PARIS! Of all places, why does he have to go to _Paris???" _She turned to Suzette. "Do you know what's IN Paris?"

Suzette shook her head, baffled.

"_WOMEN!"_ Bunny wailed. "And not just _any _women. Paris is famous for having the most glamorous, sophisticated, alluring women in the whole _world!" _She wrung her hands in distress. "Don't you see? If Alain comes to dinner and meets you, but then goes off to Paris...why, seeing all those seductive temptresses will drive all thoughts of you right out of his head! But if he comes to dinner after he gets back..." She nibbled her nail, trying to figure things out. "No, it's no good! His head will be full of glamorous Parisian coquettes, and then he'll see you and you'll seem drab and plain by comparison! Oh, what are we going to _do?"_

"I-I don't know," Suzette said helplessly. She was confused and disappointed, and a little hurt that her mother had called her "drab and plain." "There's no way, Mama? I can't have Alain after all?"

Bunny's head snapped up. "No. You WILL have Alain! There has to be a way! But how? We can't compete with Parisian girls..." Suddenly her eyes gleamed with inspiration. "Unless..."

"Ooooh, what?" Suzette asked excitedly. _Mama always thinks of something!_

"It's perfect!" Bunny crowed gleefully. "Picture it, Suzette: Alain goes to Paris. He's enthralled by all the elegant, glamorous women there, like goddesses. All the way home, he's dreaming of them. Back home in our village, he looks around at all the drab girls in their rough homespun dresses, washing clothes in the fountain, and he sighs, wishing he could have a gay, sophisticated, fancy young lady like the ones in Paris. And then...he comes to dinner and meets you. And you are JUST as glamorous as the girls in Paris!"

"I...I am?" Suzette was baffled.

"You _will _be!" Bunny promised. "I have some money saved for an emergency, and believe me, this is an emergency! We'll go to Clermont-Ferrand and pick up silk and satin and lace for a gorgeous dress, the absolute height of fashion! We'll get powder for your face, and rings for her fingers, and I'll do your hair in a sophisticated style...Alain will be so thrilled to see such a bewitching Parisian beauty right here at home, he'll probably propose right on the _spot!"_

"Oh!" Suzette squealed. "Wouldn't that be _romantic?"_

"It certainly would!" Bunny agreed. "We start first thing tomorrow. You know, in a way, it's just as well that Alain will be away for a few weeks: we have a lot of work to do before he gets back!"

o o o o o o o o

The trip to Paris was a marvellous adventure for the Avenant children. Mimi exclaimed excitedly over the tall buildings and the crowds and the horses and the fancy inn...in fact, she was shouting loudly through most of the trip, ignoring the stares of passersby.

Lili was enthralled by all the elegant ladies in their satin and lace. "Mama, do you know what I want for my birthday? A hat just like THAT!" She pointed at a lady alighting from a coach, who wore a tall purple felt hat with a huge white plume.

Belle had to laugh. _Lili certainly likes to stand out in a crowd! Just like her father, _she thought_._ "Are you sure? You wouldn't rather have a doll or some other toy?"

"Nope! I want that beautiful hat!" Lili insisted. "I could wear it with my velvet dress that Papa got me!"

"If you like it all that much, it's yours!" Gaston proclaimed, and strode into a hat shop that very minute to buy it for her.

Next they browsed a gunshop, where Alain was excited to see a double-barrelled rifle, much more technologically advanced than the rifles back home in the village. "Can I buy it, Pop?" he asked eagerly. "I'd love to show this to Monsieur Armurier! I'll bet between the two of us, we can figure out how it's made, and then WE can start making them and selling them at home!"

"Of course!" Gaston said. "I'm going to buy one for myself too! Georges, I'll get you one too – how about that?"

"Oh...you don't need to," Georges said uncomfortably. "The one you got me for Christmas still works fine."

"Nonsense. Only the best for my boy!" Gaston said, ruffling his hair.

"Can I have one to, Papa?" Mimi begged.

"Why not?" Gaston said magnanimously, enjoying making his kids happy.

Belle shook her head in amusement at all the money he was spending...but of course, once they found a bookstore, it was impossible to pull _her _away from the shelves, as well as Georges.

A few days later, the Avenants were seated at the grand ceremonial dinner of the Societé de Inventeurs. Belle smiled at her father, who looked simultaneously nervous and delighted as the head of the Societé, Jacques de Vauconson, introduced him.

"For nearly 20 years, it has been my great pleasure and honor to know Maurice Reveur. Through the years, Maurice has given us so many memorable and useful creations, from his immensely useful woodcutting machine to his most recent achievement, the clothes-washer. Maurice's inventions have always been categorized by the imagination, practicality, and a hint of whimsy that has long been his hallmark. And now, it is my great honor to call to the stage the genius himself, Maurice Reveur!"

As the room exploded in thunderous applause, Belle's heart swelled with joy and pride. _Dear, dear Papa, I'm so proud of you! _she thought. _Through all those years of struggling, you never gave up, no matter what people said. And now, finally, you have has the recognition and respect you deserve._

Maurice took the stage and was given a ceremonial plaque. He thanked the Societé for the honor, and got laughs with a few humorous anecdotes about his bumpy journey as an inventor, such as the many inventions that fell apart or, worse, exploded, before he finally got them to work. "After a lifetime of hard work, to be recognized by such an illustrious group of inventors whom I admire so much...well, it's beyond anything I'd ever imagined, and it means the world to me," Maurice said humbly. "Thank you so much for this award; I will cherish it always." The room filled again with applause.

"Before I step down," Maurice added, "I just want to thank two people without whom this moment would not be possible. First, my brilliant grandson, Alain, who has been my assistant for the past few years. On so many occasions when I hit a snag in an invention, Alain's clever mind and sharp eyes helped me solve the problem. I have no doubt that in a few years, HE will be up here on this stage receiving an award!" Alain beamed with delight as Maurice smiled fondly at him from the stage.

"And secondly," Maurice went on, "none of my success ever could have happened without my beloved daughter, Belle. She believed in me at a time when no one else did. During all the hard times, when I was tempted to just give up, Belle's unwavering faith in me what what kept me going. My darling daughter, this award is yours as much as it is mine. Thank you for being the most important part of my life. I love you."

"Oh, Papa." Belle had tears in her eyes. As her father left the stage and came back to their table, she threw her arms around him and hugged him. "You were _wonderful,_ Papa! I'm so proud of you!" Maurice hugged her back and kissed her forehead.

"That was _great,_ Grandpa!" Alain added. "And thanks for mentioning me!"

"I meant every word of it, my boy," Maurice told him. "In fact, I've been invited to lunch tomorrow with some of the inventors, and they're all asking to meet you! Would you like to join us?"

"I've love to!" Alain said happily.

Gaston came over and jovially slapped his father-in-law on the back. "Congratulations, Maurice! Well done!" he boomed. "When we get back to Molyneaux, I'm going to put that award right in the center of the mantelpiece at the tavern, where everyone can see it! And we should also have a special feast in your honor, for all our friends who couldn't be here!"

Belle had to smile at Gaston's enthusiasm. It was incredible to think that so many years ago, when she and Papa had first come to the village, Gaston had dismissed Maurice as an eccentric crackpot, just like everyone else. These days, he was as proud of his father-in-law's accomplishments as if they were his own.

At that moment, a familiar voice interrupted. "Maurice! Allow me to extend my congratulations to you. This honor is certainly well-deserved!"

Maurice turned to the newcomer and broke into a big smile. "Hervé! I didn't realized you were here. It's good to see you again!"

Hervé Liseur was the nephew of the bookseller in Molyneaux. He taught literature at the Sorbonne in Paris...and at one time had been Belle's suitor. Even as a young man, Hervé had had a sober, mature aspect that belied his age. Now that he was older, he seemed to have grown into his personality, and now looked the picture of a university professor even more than he had the last time they had seen him, 17 years earlier: time had added a few lines to his face, a touch of gray at his temples, and a moustache, all of which made him look quite distinguished.

Maurice went on, "I really owe all this to _you,_ Hervé, for introducing me to all these fine inventors and patent officials all those years ago."

Hervé waved away the comment modestly. "It was nothing. Genius such as yours could not remain hidden for long! I was merely a facilitator of your inevitable success." Seeing Belle and Gaston at the table, he bowed. "Belle, Gaston, what a pleasant surprise to see you here in Paris! It certainly has been a long time! You're both looking very well."

"Thank you, Hervé. It's so nice to see you again," Belle said warmly. "Let me introduce you to our children. This is Alain, Georges, Mimi, and Lili." The children all dutifully greeted their mother's old friend.

"What a fine family," Herve complimented.

"Thank you," Gaston said proudly. He couldn't resist adding, "I think your uncle mentioned you have only _one_ child, right, Hervé?" He couldn't help being a bit competitive, especially when it came to an old rival. Belle raised an eyebrow at him. Gaston gave her an innocent look that said _What? I'm just making polite small talk!_

"Yes, my daughter, Dominique. She is an artist," Hervé explained with a touch of pride. "I'm sorry you won't be able to meet her. Her tutor felt that it would be beneficial for her to study the Italian masters, so she and Imogene are on a tour of Italy at the moment, where she is studying under the tutelage of an Italian art teacher."

"That's very exciting! She must be very talented," Belle said.

"Thank you. We certainly think so," Hervé said, beaming. "So, how long will you be staying in Paris?"

"We're leaving the day after tomorrow," Gaston said.

"Ah, so soon – what a pity," Hervé said. Then his eyes lit up. "But I have a splendid idea! Why don't you all stop by the university tomorrow? I could give you a tour."

Before Gaston could react, Belle exclaimed, "Oh, that would be so interesting! Papa and Alain are having lunch with the inventors tomorrow, but the rest of us are free!" She turned to Gaston. "Would you mind terribly? I'd _love_ to see a real university!"

Gaston mentally groaned. A whole _day_ with stuffy Hervé at his boring university? What could be duller? But Belle looked _so_ thrilled by the prospect - she loved all that educational stuff. Gaston tried to hide his lack of enthusiasm. "Of course, darling. Anything to make you happy," he said gallantly. He was rewarded with a kiss. That helped.

"Splendid! I shall see you tomorrow then!" Hervé said happily, and saying good night, left them.

"Thank you, honey," Belle said to Gaston. "I know it's not really your cup of tea."

"It's just one day. I'll survive," Gaston said magnanamously, glad that she appreciated his generosity.

The next day, Maurice took Alain to meet the inventors, while the rest of the family met Hervé at the university. Walking around looking at a bunch of old buildings turned out to be even _more _boring than Gaston had expected. But he tried to be patient and put up with it for Belle's sake.

As Hervé showed them around, he asked, "So, Belle, what books have you been reading lately?"

"Most recently? _Gulliver's Travels," _Belle replied, eagerly anticipating the chance to learn something new about a favorite book.

"Swift's satirical masterpiece!" Hervé said. "An excellent choice. Did you enjoy it?"

"Yes, very much!" Belle said.

Gaston perked up and put his arm around Belle in a proprietary way. _"I_ liked that one too," he put in, glad that for once Hervé couldn't look down on him for not knowing about a book. Gaston hadn't actually read the book himself, but Belle had read it aloud _to _him, and he'd thought it was very funny.

Belle smiled at Gaston, then asked Hervé, "Hervé, what would you say in your classes about _Gulliver's Travels? _I'm sure you could tell us all kinds of interesting things about it!"

"Certainly!" Hervé replied immediately. "Of course, in talking about Swift, one must start with his masterful use of irony. For example, Gulliver fancies himself an impartial observer of foreign cultures, yet he is anything but. By contrasting Gulliver's overly positive depictions of British society with the opposing social orders of the Lilliputians, the Brobdingnagians, and the Houyhnhnms, Swift invites us not merely to laugh at the comical irony, but also to evaluate British society – and by extension, our own - with a far more critical eye than we might have done previously."

Gaston couldn't follow that at all. Typical Hervé gobbledygook. He glanced over at Belle, ready to catch her eye and smirk at the scholar's pompousness.

But to his dismay, Belle was nodding enthusiastically, so caught up in Hervé's lecture that she took a step toward him, her arm dropping from Gaston's. "That's so true!" she agreed. "Like in the discussion of gunpowder."

"Precisely!" Hervé said. "And of course, as the story goes on, Gulliver begins to play an integral role in each visited society. This role then has a reciprocal effect on his own character, and his journey becomes synecdochic. The multiplicity of perspectives forces an ironic mode on the reader, in which the grotesque gains destabilizing power."

Gaston blinked in complete bafflement as Hervé went on. What on earth was he _talking _about? Gaston didn't have a clue.

Yet Belle was fascinated, listening intently. "I see what you mean," she said thoughtfully. "But I wonder...aside from poking fun at Gulliver's naivete and English society, do you think Swift might have also been genuinely exploring the question of what _would _be a perfect society, if such a thing even exists? I can't help thinking that in his own way, he's trying to find Utopia, just like Thomas More."

"Indubitably!" Hervé agreed approvingly. "And may I say, that is exceedingly perspicacious of you!"

"Thank you," Belle said, beaming at the compliment.

They went on and on and ON like that, Belle hanging on Hervé's every word. It was like the two of them were in their own private little world, speaking a language Gaston couldn't even understand. It made him feel left out, and jealous...and worse, _stupid._ He'd actually READ this book – well, listened to it, anyway – but he couldn't even begin to follow this conversation about it, let alone join in!

_I bet he's doing it on purpose, _Gaston thought suddenly, his eyes narrowing. _Trying to prove how smart he is and show Belle she married a big dope! _

And what about Mimi, Lili and Georges? Shouldn't Hervé realize that not only was Gaston there, but three children were too and they were bored to death? Gaston grew more and more frustrated as Hervé and Belle continued their animated discussion, ignoring him and the kids as though they weren't even there.

Suddenly he blurted out, "Well, I don't agree!" He had no idea what they'd been talking about, but he felt he had to say _something _to break into their private little bubble.

Hervé and Belle turned to look at him with interest. "Indeed?" Herve said with interest. "Can you elucidate?"

"Um..." Gaston was put on the spot, not knowing what "elucidate" meant. "Well...sure..." he bluffed, stalling. _There he goes again, _he thought, irritated. _Tossing around all these big words just to show me up! _

Belle glanced from one to the other. "Yes, Gaston, what don't you agree with?" she asked Gaston casually, cluing him in to Herve's meaning.

Armed with that knowledge, Gaston turned on Herve. "I don't agree that YOU know what the author meant!" he challenged. "In fact, how do we know you're not just making all this stuff up?"

"Gaston!" Belle said, appalled.

"I mean it!_"_ Gaston insisted. He knew he was being rude, but he couldn't seem to stop himself. He was just _so_ sick of Herve's superior, know-it-all attitude. "This book is an _adventure _story, for crying out loud! It's meant to be exciting and fun!That's all. But _you_ can't admit that, Herve, because then you'd be out of a job. You have to come up with things to talk about in front of a classroom. So you just make up all this fancy-sounding nonsense so you'll sound smart and they'll keep on paying you. It's ridiculous! _That's _what I think."

"_Gaston!" _Belle repeated, more sharply this time. Gaston realized belatedly that he might have crossed the line; Belle looked shocked, and possibly even angry. But he lifted his chin defiantly, not backing down. Herve was so full of himself, he deserved it. And Gaston resented his own wife scolding him like he was a child. _She's MY wife; she should stand up for ME, not him! _he thought stubbornly.

There was a tense silence as the two men stared at each other: Gaston glaring, Herve flustered and red-faced.

Belle hastily stepped between them and tried to diffuse the situation. "You know, I think it's _wonderful_ that people can look at books in different ways and enjoy different things about them!" she interjected diplomatically. "Now, why don't we continue on our tour of the university? We haven't gotten to the library yet - I'd _love_ to see that!"

Relieved, Hervé turned to Belle with a smile. "A capital idea, Belle! Our university library has the finest collection of—"

"Oh, no, not a _library!" _wailed Mimi. "I don't WANT to see any books! It's bad enough hearing you guys _talk _about them!"

_That's my girl, _Gaston thought. "Mimi's right," he said firmly, seizing on this opportunity. "We've seen enough of this place. Now let's do something the _children _want to do!"

Georges said shyly, "I'd really like to see the library...I mean, only if it's all right," he added quickly, not wanting to upset anyone.

_Terrific, _Gaston thought in exasperation, seeing his excuse to leave evaporate.

Suddenly Lili piped up, "Ooh, look, everybody! Horses!" She pointed at a stable across the university's great lawn.

Mimi immediately got excited too. "Horses! Now _that's_ more like it! Can we go look at them, Papa?"

"That's a _fine_ idea," Belle said, grateful for the distraction. "Gaston, why don't you take the girls to look at the horses, while Georges, Hervé and I go look at the library? We'll meet up with you at the stable after the tour."

Gaston hesitated, not at all happy to have his wife and son spend even _more_ time with Hervé. But what could he do?

Mimi was tugging on his arm. "Please, Papa?" she wheedled. "I want to see the horses!"

"Fine," Gaston said to Belle. "We'll wait for you there. But don't take too long!" He tried to sound calm, but couldn't hide his irritation. _Once Herve starts rambling on, we could be waiting all night__,_ he thought. "Come on, girls, let's go see the horses."

As Gaston led his girls away, he could hear Herve saying, "Belle, getting back to _Gulliver's Travels, _I have five theories that I am most eager to hear your opinion of..."

Gaston rolled his eyes, feeling put-upon. _FIVE? Is he kidding? I won't see Belle again until midnight! _

Grumbling, he walked on, muttering to himself, "I once saved that idiot's _life _– you'd think he'd show me more respect!"

Deep down, on some level Gaston knew he was behaving badly. Of course, rationally, it was totally ridiculous to feel any jealousy of Herve at this late date. He knew perfectly well that, after 17 years of marriage and four children, Belle wasn't going to suddenly run off with Hervé just because they were talking about books.

But their discussion had unexpectedly brought rushing back all those same excluded, inferior feelings he'd had all those years ago, when Hervé used to dazzle Belle with literary analysis and Gaston couldn't compete. He felt like the village idiot, with no idea what they were talking about! He _hated _feeling that way, especially since Belle was his wife – _he _should be the one having intimate, private conversations with her that no one else could share.

Although he wouldn't admit it, he was also hurt. All those years Belle had been cozily reading aloud to him – he thought she _liked _that. But...maybe it wasn't enough for her. Maybe she secretly wanted more. It seemed that Herve was able to satisfy Gaston's woman in some way Gaston couldn't, and _that _stung. His knee-jerk instinct was to try to knock Hervé off his high horse, one way or another.

As they arrived at the stables, Gaston could see a few clusters of university students scattered about the grounds, all well-dressed and talking animatedly with each other – no doubt all Hervé Juniors, tossing about big words and lofty ideas as though they owned the world. Gaston couldn't wait to get back home to Molyneaux, where everyone looked up to him and saw _him _as the expert authority on everything that mattered.

"Ooh, look at that one!" Lili said, pointing to a gray horse. "He's so pretty!"

Mimi climbed up on the door of the stall to get a better look. "What kind of horse is that, Papa?"

"That's a Lusitano," Gaston said, glad for a chance to show off his knowledge, even if it was only to his own little girls. "They come from Portugal. Excellent breed: they were bred for bullfighting, so they're very quick and agile and sure-footed, and they have great reflexes. They're also very intelligent and responsive."

He noticed two university students listening in and, gratified, raised his voice for his audience's benefit. "This one's about 15 hands high, and he's a fine specimen of the breed: see his long neck and strong, sloping shoulders? That helps make him coordinated and well-balanced." He clucked gently at the horse, which leaned its head out of the stall and allowed Gaston to stroke its neck. Gaston carefully lifted its upper lip to examine its teeth. "Judging from his teeth, he's about two years old," he said authoritatively. He stepped back and studied the horse with a practiced eye. "Back is short-coupled, withers are well-defined...This horse is from a champion bloodline for sure. He definitely cost someone a pretty penny."

One of the students stepped forward. "You certainly seem to know a great deal about horses, monsieur!"

"I do," Gaston agreed, his battered pride slightly soothed by the student's admiration.

"Splendid! I'm delighted to see that the university _finally _had the sense to hire a stablehand who knows what he's doing. The last one we had was _dreadful."_ He took Gaston's hand and, to the hunter's astonishment, pressed some coins into it. "Here. That Lusitano's mine, and he's my pride and joy. Take extra special care of him, and there'll be more for you where that came from," he said with a wink, gesturing at the coins.

Gaston stared at him in disbelief, then thrust the coins back at him. "I'm not a _stablehand!"_ he snapped, offended at being labelled hired help.

"Oh?" The student glanced at his friend, who shrugged in confusion. The two students looked over Gaston, eyeing his country peasant garb and clearly trying to figure out how he fit in here. "Groundskeeper, then?" the Lusitano's owner guessed.

"No! I don't work here at all! We're here as guests of Herve Liseur's," Gaston said, disgruntled.

The second student's eyes widened. _"You_ know Herve Liseur? The head of the literature department?" His voice swelled with respect. "Why, he's the most brilliant man I've ever met!"

The first student scratched his head, still puzzled at how these country bumpkins could be acquainted with such a literary genius. "So...how do you know him? Are you relations of his?"

How could Gaston even answer that question? _Oh, we met years ago when he tried to steal my wife from me, _he thought sarcastically. "He's an old friend of the family," he said shortly, trying not to roll his eyes at the word 'friend.' Not wanting to elaborate further, he went on, "We have to go now. Come on, girls, let's find your mother." Belle had told them to wait, but he felt like he would explode if he had to stay here another minute.

They crossed the lawn and entered one of the imposing stone university buildings. As the heavy door slammed shut behind them, shutting out the sunlight, Gaston felt as if he were in a mauseoleum. How could anyone choose to spend time locked up in here, when he could be outside in the fresh air and sunshine?

"Do you know where to go?" Lili asked him.

"Of course!" Gaston replied confidently. "I'm a hunter! I have an excellent sense of direction."

He strode forward briskly, looking for the library, but was met by a trio of corridors: one leading left, one leading right, and one straight ahead. He looked around for a clue as to which one to take, but they all looked the same: long hallways lined with classrooms.

His daughters were looking at him expectantly. "This way," he said, picking the corridor straight in front of them. The library was a big important part of the university, he reasoned – naturally it would be straight ahead.

But that corridor led to a circular atrium with yet more corridors leading to other wings of the building, as well as a staircase. Gaston took a corridor at random, then another, hoping for some kind of clue, but finding none. He was beginning to feel like an animal caught in a trap. Not only couldn't he find the library – at this point, he couldn't even see any way out of the _building._

He was getting more and more frustrated. He never got lost when he was outside: he was skilled at using the sun and stars as a compass, marking notches on trees in the forest, or noting landmarks in a town. But in this crazy oversized warren of a building, all the corridors looked identical, so he couldn't even retrace his steps! He was starting to sweat.

"Are we lost?" Lili asked worriedly.

Mimi said immediately, "Of course not! Papa NEVER gets lost! Right, Papa?"

"Right, Mimi," Gaston bluffed. How he hated this place! Now, on top of everything else, it was making him look foolish in front of his adoring little girls. Everything about the university seemed to mock him: first the people, and now even the buildings themselves!

Then to his vast relief, a man stepped out of one of the classrooms. Normally Gaston would rather be eaten by wolves than stoop to asking for directions, but desperate times called for desperate measures. "Excuse me, monsieur – which way is the library?"

"Oh, that's on the second floor of the East Wing, all the way on the other side of the building! We're in the West Wing," the man said. He pointed down a corridor. "Go down that corridor, and when you see the classrooms for the Romance languages, turn left. Follow that corridor all the way to the end, go up the stairs, and turn right. That will take you to the library."

"Thank you," Gaston said, wondering if he'd remember all that. "Come on, girls." He started in the direction the man had indicated. He had said to look for "Romance languages", but what did that mean? Were there languages that were all about love? He puzzled over it, then snapped his fingers. Poetry! Lots of poems were about love, so poetry must be "the language of love," or as the man had said, the "Romance language."

Encouraged, he picked up his pace, certain he'd find the library in minutes. They passed some classrooms with languages printed on the doors – Portuguese, Spanish, Italian, Romanian – but nothing that made Gaston think of love, and no sign of poetry. So he decided to simply look for a staircase instead. Eventually he found one, but when he got upstairs, the second floor was just as confusing as the first.

Lili complained, "My feet hurt. Are you sure we're not lost?"

"We're not lost!" Gaston snapped. "I'll find it, just give me a minute!" He felt like the endless walls and corridors were pressing in on him – it was almost hard to breathe. Would they _ever_ find Belle and get out of this wretched place?

O o o o o o o o

While Gaston and the girls had been looking at horses at the stables, Belle, Hervé and Georges had headed for the university buildings. As they crossed the well-manicured lawn, Hervé was still expounding on Swift's literary legacy, but Belle couldn't focus anymore on what he was saying. She was too upset that Gaston had been so rude. What on _earth _had gotten into him? She had been having a lovely time, learning things she didn't know about a favorite book...but then, for no reason at all, Gaston suddenly started _insulting_ Hervé! She was mortified just thinking about it. Even if Gaston found Hervé's lectures boring, that was no reason to lash out at him like that! Hervé had been kind enough to invite them on this tour; the least Gaston could do was put up with it for an hour or so, just to be polite. Especially since Belle _was _enjoying it!

Although Belle was no longer listening closely to Hervé's lecture, Georges was. The boy was mesmerized by Herve. He couldn't believe he was actually meeting someone who knew more about books than his mother! The earlier tension among the adults had upset him, but now that was forgotten as he listened to Hervé expounding on all the themes and symbols and hidden meanings in the book.

Although Georges didn't understand everythingHervé said, the parts he did grasp gave him lots to think about. It seemed to Georges that Hervé possessed a magic wand: he could wave it over a book, and suddenly all kinds of hidden meanings were revealed. Georges realized excitedly that if you knew how to look at a story in the right way, there could be a whole _other _story hidden beneath it – or even MORE than one!

_Why, you could read the same book over and over, and see something different in it every time! _Georges marvelled. Hervé was almost like a wizard, to know how to do that!

By now they had arrived at an impressive stone building. Georges looked up at it in awe. This was the fortress where all the books and knowledge and wisdom were kept; he felt privileged just to pass through its doors.

As Herve led them through the corridors and up the stairs, Georges asked, "Professor Liseur, do you know a lot about poetry, too? I mean, do you know about what all the poems mean, and what the poets' lives were like, and why they picked those words?"

Hervé smiled. "Well, young man, no one can say he fully understands _all _the meanings of a poem. That is the beauty of poetry: it is constantly unfolding, revealing its mysteries, and there is always more to discover. But as head of the literature department here, I _would_ venture to say that I know as much about poetry, and literature in general, as any man in France," he finished with a touch of pride. "It is my life's work."

"Your life's work," Georges repeated, enthralled. "Wow. That's great! Boy, I wish I could take some of your classes!"

"I wish all my students showed such enthusiasm!" Hervé said approvingly. "Ah, and now we have arrived at my favorite room in the entire university: the library!" With a dramatic flourish, Herve pushed open the double doors and ushered them inside.

Georges' eyes widened at the sight of the enormous high-ceilinged space, with smaller alcoves off the main room. Nearly every wall was lined with floor-to-ceiling bookcases, but one wall instead had large windows letting in plenty of light to read by.

"Wow!" George said. "I've never seen so many books in my whole life!"

Belle was equally impressed. "This is _wonderful,_ Hervé!" She smiled at Georges, enjoying his excitement. "It's certainly bigger than the bookstore at home, isn't it?"

"I'll say!" Georges said. "I wish I could spend a whole _year_ here!" He ran eagerly from wall to wall, then took down some poetry books and sat happily on one of the overstuffed chairs, reading, while his mother browsed the fairy tale section.

After too short a time, the grandfather clock in the corner of the room chimed. Belle sighed wistfully. "I suppose we should be getting back. Gaston will be wondering what's taking us so long."

Herve nodded. "Of course."

Georges reluctantly replaced the books on the shelf. As they reached the door, he cast a longing glance back at the library. _I'll come back here someday, _he promised himself.

But when they got to the stables, there was no sign of Gaston or the girls. Belle bit her lip, concerned. Where could they be? "Maybe they got tired of waiting and came inside to find us. Let's go back in and look for them," she suggested, feeling a little guilty. _We shouldn't have spent so much time in the library, _she thought. _Gaston and the girls aren't interested in this place at all – it really wasn't fair to make them wait so long._

As they re-entered the university building and searched the hallways, Georges and Hervé trailed behind Belle, talking about poetry. Hervé inquired about Georges' favorite poets, and Georges immediately told him all the ones he liked, and why, and asked Herve questions about them, which the professor was more than happy to answer.

"I love poems," Georges told him. "I even like to write my own!"

"Indeed?" Hervé said with interest. "I should very much like to read your poems, young man."

Georges was simultaneously delighted and embarrassed. "Oh," he said shyly, "they aren't very good, really."

"Ah, you _are _a writer! Writers are often the severest critics of their own work," Hervé said with a chuckle. "Truly, I would be honored to read your poems, if you will permit me."

"_I'm _honored that you want to!" Georges said, thrilled. "I could send some to you. But sir...please, if they're no good, be honest and tell me so, and also tell me what's wrong with them so I can make them better. I _really_ want to be a good poet."

Hervé nodded. "Young man, I assure you that if you entrust your poems to me, I shall evaluate them and respond with a professional and truthful assessment."

"Thank you, sir," Georges said gratefully. This professor seemed to truly understand him and take his aspiration seriously, not like some silly little hobby. As Georges shook Hervé's hand, he felt that a sacred pact was being sealed, a bond formed – _like Merlin passing on his wisdom to young Arthur, _he thought reverently_. _

O o o o o o o

Gaston was forced to admit to himself that he was hopelessly lost. He was just about at his wits' end when, to his great relief, Belle ran up to him. "There you are! I'm _so _sorry we took so long," she said apologetically. "The library was huge, and you know me: once I start looking at books, I lose track of time and can't tear myself away..."

But Gaston wasn't listening. He had noticed that behind Belle, further down the hallway, Georges was deep in conversation with Hervé. Gaston frowned. What on earth did _they_ have to talk about?

As they got closer, Gaston could overhear Hervé blathering on about poetry as usual, while Georges listened intently. "Wow," Georges said, "you really know _everything_ about poems, Professor Liseur! I wish I knew as much as you!"

Hervé smiled. "Well, you yourself are surprisingly well-versed in the subject for one so young! In fact, I must say, you remind me of _myself _when I was a boy."

Gaston almost choked when he heard that. _How DARE that little weasel compare himself to MY son! _he thought, enraged. _How dare he try to fill Georges' head with all his puffed-up nonsense! _It was bad enough that Hervé had tried to monopolize Belle, but this was so much _worse,_ because Georges was so young and impressionable!

Georges had been making so much progress lately with his target shooting, and Gaston was proud of him. He was confident that very soon Georges would finally experience the unforgettable thrill of making his first kill as a hunter...and when he did, he'd forget all about that silly poetry. It was just a childish phase he'd grow out of, Gaston was sure.

But now, Herve was trying to undo all that progress and poison Georges' _mind _– to turn Gaston's own son into the same kind of prissy, cowardly weakling that Herve _himself_ was! Gaston felt an almost uncontrollable urge to throttle the scholar.

_Get the hell away from my son! _he wanted to shout. But he forced himself to act calm. He reminded himself that they were leaving now, after all, and they would never return. "Georges!" he said, louder than he intended. "It's time to go. Come on."

Instead of running right over as usual, Georges said, "Just a minute, Papa!", actually making Gaston _wait _while he turned back to Herve. "Professor Liseur, thank you so much for the tour. It was great!"

His own son was actually looking up at that pompous jackass with _admiration!_ Gaston wanted to throw up. _"Georges!" _he repeated more sharply. "Come here NOW!" They had to get out of this horrible place _right now, _before it did any more damage!

"Coming!" Georges quickly ran to his father.

Then Gaston had to wait impatiently while Bellethanked Herve and said _her_ goodbyes. Gaston felt like he was in a nightmare that would never end.

But finally, _finally, _they were outside, and Gaston breathed in the blessed fresh air gratefully. Back at the inn, they met up with Alain and Maurice, who were bursting with stories about their day with the inventors. Gaston began to feel much better, now that his family was all together again and away from that awful university. Everything was back to normal.

Better still, he and Belle had reservations at a romantic restaurant for dinner, while Maurice would stay at the inn with the kids. An intimate dinner with his loving wife was _just _what Gaston needed right now.

As they sat in the posh restaurant, waiting for the waiter to bring their food, Belle felt the same way, wanting to smooth things over. "I'm sorry again that we took so long at the library," she told him contritely. "I didn't mean to leave you waiting."

"That's all right," Gaston replied, back to his good-natured mood. "I know how much you like books."

"That's putting it mildly!" she agreed with a laugh. "Thanks for being so understanding. Although…I _really _wish you hadn't gone off on Hervé like that," she added honestly. "I know the tour was boring for you, but it _was_ nice of him to show us around. You could have been a little more polite to him."

Gaston's expresson darkened, remembering how superior and high-and-mighty Hervé had been, deliberately talking above Gaston's head and mesmerizing Belle with his fancy words. "It's hard to be polite when he's trying to show me up and make me look stupid!"

Belle was surprised. "What do you mean? He wasn't trying to make you look stupid."

"Oh, yes, he was," Gaston snapped. "I'm sick of him being such a know-it-all, looking down at me like I'm an idiot! With all his 'Can you elucidate?'" he mimicked.

"Oh, that's just how Hervé talks," Belle said with a shrug. "He uses big words with me too."

"Yes, but you _understand _them!" Gaston exploded. Then, as though realizing what he'd just said, he abruptly looked away.

Belle stared at him, the truth dawning on her. _Oh...it's not really that Herv__é__ thinks Gaston is stupid, _she realized_. It's that_ _when Herv__é__ talks, Gaston FEELS stupid_. "Is that what's bothering you? That Herve uses big words?"

"I don't _care _what words he uses!" Gaston said defensively. "It doesn't matter to me _what_ he says or thinks!"

"Then why are you upset, if you don't care what he thinks?"

"Because..." He looked at her a moment, then sighed and admitted it. "I care what _you _think."

"Ohhh...I see." Belle smiled, slightly amused. _For a guy who brags so much, he can be so insecure sometimes, _she thought. She reached across the table and took his hand. "Honey. Seriously. Do you honestly think I care whether you understand 'thematic symbolism' or anything like that?"

"I don't know. Do you?" Gaston asked. "You seemed awfully excited when Hervé talked about it… whatever it is!"

"Silly. I just like to learn new things, that's all," Belle said dismissively. "But Gaston, really, _you_ know just as much as Hervé does! You just know about different subjects. I mean, if we'd been talking about hunting, _you'd_ be the expert. You'd be tossing around words that _he_ didn't know, and asking things like 'Which do you think is better, a recurve bow or a longbow?' and 'What's your favorite method of flushing grouse?', and Hervé wouldn't have the slightest idea what you meant!"

Gaston had to grin at the mental picture of Hervé being baffled by _his_ expertise. "That's for sure. I bet he couldn't even tell the difference between a grouse and a specklebelly!"

"There you go," Belle said encouragingly. "Different people are experts on different things, that's all. It's nothing to get upset about."

"You're right," Gaston acknowledged. "I shouldn't have blown up like that. I guess it just bothered me to see you two chattering away like magpies, and I couldn't join in."

"Aw, did you feel left out?" Belle said sympathetically. "I'm sorry if you felt like I was ignoring you. I just get so involved when I talk about books – I didn't mean to make you feel bad." She squeezed his hand. "But anyway," she teased, "it gave you a chance to see what it's like NOT to be the center of attention every single minute!"

Gaston laughed. She was always teasing him affectionately about his ego. "That's true. I gave it a try...and I don't like it one little bit!" he joked back. He took a deep breath, needing to ask one last thing. "So, um...when we're in bed at night...you're not lying there wishing I'd dazzle you with talk about 'thematic symbolism'?"

Belle burst out laughing at that image. "Oh, lord, _no!" _she managed to get out between giggles. "Believe me, Gaston, you have _much_ better ways of dazzling me in bed," she added with a wink.

"Good," Gaston said with a grin, satisfied. He leaned back, mentally congratulating himself (as he so often did) at the knowledge that Belle was one of a kind, and _he _was the guy who'd won her.

Now that things were back to normal, he felt a little bad about the way he'd acted. Not because of Hervé – he still felt that pretentious know-it-all deserved to be taken down a peg – but because he'd spoiled Belle's day. "Sorry I ruined your big tour," he said apologetically. "I should have kept quiet." He gave her a sheepish grin. "But, well, you know me: shoot off my mouth first, ask questions later."

Belle had to smile at his all-too-accurate description. "It's all right," she assured him. "I still had a good time, especially at the library." Her eyes shone at the memory. "You can't _imagine _how many books there were – it was amazing!"

"You must have loved that!" Gaston said, glad she'd enjoyed herself in spite of everything.

"Oh, yes! Georges loved it too," she added. That reminded her of something. "You know, Hervé was _very _impressed to hear that Georges is a poet."

Gaston scowled. "Yes. I saw that," he said darkly. "Look, could we _not_ talk about Hervé anymore?"

"Good idea," Belle agreed immediately, realizing her mistake. Her eyes lit up she saw the waiter approaching with their food. "Let's enjoy our romantic meal instead."

"Now _that's _an excellent idea," Gaston said, lifting his wine glass to toast her.

O o o o o o o o

The next day, the Avenants packed their belongings and piled into the coach for the long journey home. Belle smiled as she saw Maurice and Alain talking animatedly, both bursting with new inspiration and new ideas to try since their lunch with the inventors_._

She heard a high-pitched giggle, and turn to see little Lili being lifted by her father, who was tickling her as he placed her into her seat. "Now, you're sure you packed _everything?" _he asked her mock-sternly. "You didn't leave anything behind? What about your toes – do you have all ten?"

Lili giggled."Yes!"

"Good, because I don't want to have to go all the way back to Paris for any missing toes!" he warned her with a twinkle in his eye.

Belle had to smile, watching them. Gaston could certainly drive her crazy sometimes, and goodness knew they had their arguments! But she also knew he was the one for her, this laughing, passionate, adventurous bear of a man.

He saw her watching him and winked. She winked back, glad that the tension of yesterday's university tour was in the past.

She settled into her seat, her thoughts turning ahead. Never mind the university; soon they'd be back home, and her _own_ school would be in session. She felt a thrill of anticipation. She always loved the beginning of the school year: meeting the new, shy little children who didn't even know the alphabet, and, over the year, sharing their excitement and pride as they learned to read aloud all by themselves. It was such a huge accomplishment, both for her and for them. She couldn't wait.

Georges climbed into the coach behind her, and she smiled at him. "Did you enjoy the trip?" she asked him. "It was fun seeing that big library, wasn't it?"

"Oh, yes," Georges said dreamily. As he took his seat, he was so full of his own thoughts that he didn't even hear his two sisters squabbling over which one got to sit by the window.

Georges was sad to be leaving Paris. But the wonderful memories buoyed him. That incredible library...and that distinguished university professor telling Georges that he'd actually be _honored _to read his poems! And he wasn't just being nice, either – he really _meant_ it. He'd shaken Georges' hand like he was making a promise.

Deep in Georges' heart, a small, secret wish was forming. He didn't dare tell anyone, because he was afraid they'd laugh or tell him he was foolish, and his hopes would be destroyed. As long as he kept it secret, there was still a chance it could happen...that maybe, someday, he could attend that university, and read all those wonderful books, and learn all about poetry from wise Professor Liseur...and maybe even become a poet himself, for real!

The thought warmed him inside, filling him with joy. Someday....maybe...

_I will, _he promised himself. _I don't know how, but someday, I WILL go to that university and become a poet! _He smiled, thinking of how proud his mother would be.

Then he imagined how his father might react, and quickly pushed that thought away.

With the family settled in the coach, Gaston sat down next to Belle and took the reins. Gaston was in a fine mood: the sun was shining and they were going home. Hunting season would be starting soon, he thought with a stir of anticipation. Alain was 15 now, nearly a man – he was old enough to come hunting with the village men now. Gaston looked forward to showing off his son's prowess to his friends, and maybe even bringing him to the tavern afterward once in a while. Meanwhile, little Mimi's skill was growing by leaps and bounds – Gaston couldn't _wait _to see how she did this season! And Georges' aim was improving: all that patient practice at target shooting was paying off. Gaston was _certain_ that this was the season Georges would finally bag his first trophy.

Yes, indeed, it was going to be a fall to remember.

As though reading his thoughts, Belle put her hand on his knee and smiled. "It's nice to be going home, isn't it?"

"It certainly is," Gaston agreed cheerfully. He realized now how ridiculous he had been to get so worked up over nothing yesterday. Soon they'd be home where they belonged...and he'd never, _ever_ have to see or hear about stuffy old Hervé OR his wretched university ever again.

With that happy thought, he flicked the reins, and the coach started off on the long journey to Molyneaux.


	25. Satin and Lace

Tonight was the night!

Suzette was so excited, she thought she would burst. After all her months of waiting and pining, Alain was coming to dinner, and _finally _she would be able to talk to him!

"I can't believe it's really happening!" she told her mother. "I bet he'll look so handsome tonight..." Full of anticipation, she paused for a happy moment to picture him. Then she got worried. "Oh...but I'm so nervous! What should I do? What should I say? Do you really think he'll like me? What if he _doesn't_ like me_?"_ Her voice trembled with fear at that horrible thought. "Oh, I HOPE he likes me!" Suzette's mind was in a tizzy, a thousand thoughts and feelings buzzing around at once.

"He'll like you. We'll make _sure_ of it," Bunny assured her firmly. Too much was riding on this night to allow it to be otherwise.

Unlike her daughter's, Bunny's thoughts were far from scattered. Instead, she was all single-minded focus and determination, with one purpose in mind.

_Every tiny detail has to be perfect tonight. Nothing will be left to chance, _she mentally vowed_. My daughter is going to get what I never had: marriage to an Avenant, Gaston's son, the handsomest boy in town. And she's going to do it by NOT repeating my mistakes_. _She's NOT going to throw herself at this boy, chattering up a storm and begging for his attention, so he thinks she's unworthy of him. _Bunny's expression hardened._ No. This time, SHE'LL be the one in control. She'll be mysterious and exotic, desirable but unattainable, so he'll be intrigued and capitivated, and he'll vow to do whatever it takes to win her heart..._

"Mama?" Suzette's voice broke into her thoughts. "Are you all right? You look so serious!"

Brought back to the present, Bunny smiled reassuringly at her daughter. "I'm fine, honey. Just thinking of all the things we have to do to get ready. We'd better get started – we only have 10 hours!"

"Okay!" Suzette said enthusiastically. "Just tell me what to do!"

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

"There, that's the last one," Bunny said that evening, carefully unpinning the final roller from Suzette's hair. Suzette breathed a sigh of relief. They had devoted the entire day to getting her ready for her all-important meeting with Alain. It had taken hours to painstakingly wind each lock of her wet hair around a small wooden rod and pin it in place, until her whole head bristled with them. Then, while her hair dried, Suzette had buffed her feet with a pumice stone, rubbed her skin with homemade lotions to soften it, and scented herself with rosewater, while her mother put the finishing touches on her new dress.

Now, with Suzette's hair dry and the rollers removed, Bunny carefully brushed and arranged it. "There!" she said with satisfaction. Suzette's hair was a gleaming golden mass of corkscrew curls tumbling around her shoulders, with soft tendrils and ringlets on either side of her face. Bunny added a strategic pink bow in the back, then sighed happily. "You're the very _picture_ of glamour and romance," she pronounced. "Alain will take one look and fall for you instantly!"

"Oh, I hope so!" Suzette said anxiously, peering into the mirror to see if there were any flaws, anything to correct.

"No frowning!" Bunny said sternly. "It causes wrinkles. Only smiles today! And speaking of smiles..." She hurried to a drawer and pulled out two tiny pots. "I got these in Clermont-Ferrand. They were expensive, but worth it for an occasion like this." She held up one. "Powder for your face – very fashionable." She patted the white powder on Suzette's face. "And now, rouge," she said, dabbing some color on Suzette's cheeks and lips.

"Oh! It looks so pretty!" Suzette said, admiring herself in the mirror.

"That's the idea," Bunny said. "Now, tilt your head up...a few drops of belladonna in your eyes to make them sparkle..." Bunny administered the drops, then surveyed her daughter and smiled. "Beautiful! And now..." She paused dramatically. "...the dress!"

Suzette's face lit up in anticipation. This dress had been a mother-daughter sewing project for the past several weeks. Now, after all the sewing and planning, she could finally wear it. Bunny proudly held out the elaborate pink satin gown, all ruffles and lace and trimmed with rosettes on the bottom. Suzette carefully put it on, making sure not to wrinkle it.

Bunny moved behind her. "Pull your stomach in and hold your breath," she instructed, yanking hard at the laces to tighten the bodice. "We want your waist as tiny as possible." That done, she surveyed Suzette critically. "Ah, it's lovely...but it needs something..." She snapped her fingers. "Got it!" She yanked down on the neckline, exposing more of Suzette's creamy bosom. "We need to get his attention, give him a glimpse of your charms to keep him interested...but not _so_ low as to make you seem immodest..." She adjusted it. "There! Perfect."

"You really know _everything _about men, don't you, Mama?" Suzette said admiringly. It was so comforting to know that her mother was there, guiding her every step of the way, knowing exactly what to do.

"Everything worth knowing," Bunny agreed with a wink. "Now, you're all ready!"

There was a knock at the bedroom door, and Armand called, "Everything all right? You two have been in there for hours!"

Bunny smiled. "See for yourself," she said proudly.

Armand entered the room and stared in astonishment at his daughter. "My word!" he exclaimed. "What IS all this?"

Suzette bit her lip worriedly. What had gone wrong? "You-you don't like it, Papa?" Her blue eyes filled with tears.

Armand softened as he looked at his only daughter. He hadn't meant to upset her. "Suzette, dear, you look beautiful," he assured her, then turned to his wife for an explanation. "But Bunny, isn't this a bit much? We're only having dinner – she's not going to a _ball!"_

Bunny sighed and took him aside. "It's an investment in her _future, _Armand," she explained. "Don't you remember, when you hired Alain, we _both_ agreed that he might make the perfect husband for Suzette? And that if he married her, the shop could stay in the family? But you wanted to wait and see how Alain did first, if he was a hard worker. Remember?"

Armand rubbed his chin. "Yes...yes, I do recall that," he mused. "But—"

"Well, then!" Bunny said triumphantly. "He's been with you a whole year now, and you've _said _what a great help he is to you, how smart and responsible he is, and such a hard worker. Clearly he's turned out to be everything we would want in a husband for Suzette. And now he's coming to dinner! So I thought, this is the perfect opportunity for him to meet Suzette and get the ball rolling! Don't you agree, dear?"

"Ah, I see," Armand said thoughtfully, turning it over in his mind. "I suppose that does make sense..."

"Of _course_ it does. And when Suzette meets Alain, she has to look _perfect _– a vision of loveliness, so radiant that he can't take his eyes off her!_" _

Armand smiled as he looked at his daughter. "Well, I must say, you certainly have achieved that! Suzette, truly, you look lovely."

Suzette blushed. "Thank you, Papa."

Armand said wistfully, "Looks like my little girl is growing up." Then he frowned, noticing her bosom. "But a little _too _grown up, if you ask me," he added sternly. "Pull that top up higher! I know you're looking to land a husband, but you're still my little girl. I'm not having you flaunting yourself like some low-class showgirl!"

"Sorry, Papa," Suzette said, quickly yanking the top higher.

"That's better," he said approvingly. "You've certainly turned out a fine young lady, Suzette. I hope Alain appreciates how lucky he is."

Suzette giggled. "Thanks, Papa," she said modestly.

Bunny spoke up. "You go downstairs and wait for him, dear. We have a few last-minute touches here."

"All right." Armand left the room.

Bunny immediately closed the door. "Now, then..." She went to Suzette and pulled her neckline down to where it had been before.

Suzette protested worriedly, "But Mama, Papa said—"

Bunny waved the objection away. "He won't know the difference," she said dismissively. "Believe me, Suzette, when it comes to landing a man, you have to use _all_ your assets."

Suzette giggled.

"No giggling in front of Alain!" her mother reprimanded sharply. "We don't want him to see you as some simpering silly girl! He'll be here any minute, so make sure to remember _everything_ I told you. Keep your chin up; never look _directl_y at him, just sidelong glances; you can smile slightly, in an enigmatic or amused way, but NO big bright grins. Remember: you are an elegant young lady, like the ones in Paris. Sophisticated, alluring, mysterious..."

Sturggling to remember all the instructions, Suzette was suddenly terrified. She felt anything BUT sophisticated and mysterious. But this was _it _– the moment they had been working towards for the past year. Her whole _future_ depended on this evening! "Oh, Mama – what if I mess up?" she gasped, frightened. "What if he doesn't like me?"

"Looking like _that?_ Believe me, honey: he'd have to be DEAD not to like you!" Bunny said reassuringly.

Suzette tried to steady herself. She felt weak and wobbly in the knees. "I hope I can do this. I think I'm going to faint..."

"If you're going to faint, wait till Alain is around – then he can catch you," Bunny said practically. "Hmm...actually, that's not a bad idea..."

Suzette had to smile at that. Mama was never one to pass up an opportunity.

"If you don't know what to say, then don't say _anything,"_ Bunny advised. "Less is more. Men don't like a chatterbox. Just bat your eyes and look interested in what HE'S saying, and once in a while say 'Really' or 'How fascinating' or 'That sounds delightful' – something elegant like that. We want him to be intrigued and leave here wanting MORE of you. Got it?"

Suzette nodded and tried to take a deep breath, but could only manage a bit of air, considering how tightly she was laced up. "All right," she said, trying to be confident. "I'm ready."

"That's my girl!" Bunny said approvingly. "Wait here, and when he gets here, I'll announce that you're coming, to make sure he's looking up at the staircase. And remember how we practiced coming down the stairs!" she added. Suzette nodded.

She watched her mother exit the room and waited nervously for her name to be called. She closed her eyes and clasped her hands together. _Please, let him like me..._

O o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

Meanwhile, Alain was at home, ready to leave for the dinner at his employer's house. Always punctual, he had gotten ready for events earlier than was necessary, although in his case, "getting ready" just meant combing his hair and putting on clean clothes.

"You look very nice," Belle commented, straightening his collar.

"Thanks, Ma," Alain said. "I want to make a good impression."

"Well, you've been working for Monsieur Armurier for a while now – I'm sure you've already made a good impression," Belle pointed out.

"I know. But it's hard to know what he thinks sometimes. He's so quiet. So I was really surprised when he invited me to dinner. And I felt honored that he would ask me. I mean, he _must _think highly of me to invite me to his home, right?" Alain looked hopefully at his parents for confirmation.

"Of _course _he thinks highly of you!" Gaston assured him. "In fact, one night at the tavern, I asked him how you were getting on at work, and he said to me, 'That boy of yours is smart as a whip! Show him something once, he understands it immediately, _and _he remembers it. I never have to tell him anything twice.'"

"Really?" Alain said, pleased. His taciturn employer never gave him such lavish praise to his face.

Gaston nodded. "Don't sell yourself short, son. You're _great_ at what you do. He's lucky to have you working for him."

"Thanks, Pa," Alain said. "Well, I'd better be going. I don't want to be late."

Belle smiled. "Always so punctual – it's no wonder Monsieur Armurier is happy with you!" She gave him a hug. "Have a good time."

"Thanks. I'll see you later!" Alain said, heading out the door.

Alain reached the gunsmith's house and knocked at the door. Monsieur Armurier answered. "Ah, Alain, right on time!" he said, smiling. He seemed much more relaxed and cheerful in his own home than in the shop, where he was all business, Alain noticed. He ushered Alain into the house, saying "Come in, lad, come in! You've no doubt seen my wife Bunny around the village, but let me introduce you properly. Bunny, dear, Alain is here."

Bunny stepped forward. "I'm _so_ glad you could make it tonight, Alain," she trilled.

"Thank you for inviting me," Alain said with a slight bow.

Bunny smiled at her husband. "My, he's polite, isn't he? It's so wonderful to see that quality in a young man." She walked over to the staircase and turned back to Alain, almost as if presenting the staircase to him. "My daughter will be down in a moment." She looked up the staircase and called "Suzette, honey, Alain is here!"

Alain's eyes automatically went to the doorway at the top of the staircase, to which Bunny was gesturing. After a moment of silence, Suzette appeared.

Forgetting his manners, Alain just stared, his mouth dropping open.

Years ago, when he'd gone to school with Suzette, she had been a bouncy, friendly little girl. Then when he'd seen her again at the Christmas party the year before, she had acted strangely, laughing like a crazy hyena...but at least she'd still _looked_ like a regular girl, a pretty blonde in a nice party dress. But now...

There on the staircase was the most overdressed, elaborately-done-up young lady he'd ever seen in his life. She was wearing an expensive, fancy pink satin dress with lace ruffles on the collar and sleeves, a sash with a huge bow around her waist, and little satin roses on the skirt. She even wore matching pink satin _gloves!_ Her hair was arranged in the most complicated hairstyle he'd ever seen, all corkscrew curls and elaborate ringlets. Everything about her was artificial and overdone. Even her _face _was meticulously made up in powder and rouge.

_And all this for a family dinner! _he thought, astonished. _Is she expecting the Queen to join us?_

He couldn't help wondering what kind of person would devote _that _much time and energy to something as superficial as her appearance. She must be very vain, he decided. He was disappointed to think she'd turned out that way; she'd been a really nice girl when they'd gone to school together.

_But it's none of my business, _he reminded himself. _Who am I to judge? _Plus, she was his employer's daughter; he really should be more respectful. Still, it was hard not to stare.

The girl paused deliberately at the top of the stairs. Bunny announced, "This is my daughter, Suzette," as if presenting royalty.

Suzette waited one more moment, as if allowing everyone an opportunity to take in the utter beauty that was she. Then, slowly and dramatically, she descended the stairs, gracefully lifting her skirt with each step – ostensibly to avoid tripping on it, but Alain noticed that she managed to flash a bit of leg each time. He'd never seen such a self-conscious display.

When she reached the bottom, Suzette came up to him, gave a little curtsey, and offered him her hand. Uncertain what he was supposed to do, Alain shook it.

Suzette cleared her throat and, in an obviously phony posh accent, said "It is a pleasure to meet you." She lowered her lashes for a moment in a coquettish way.

"Um...we've met before," Alain said, confused. "In school. Remember?"

Thrown off by his answer, Suzette glanced uncertainly at her mother. Then she said, "Why, yes! I do believe you are right. How very kind of you to remember me."

"Sure I remember you," Alain said. Wanting to be polite, he added, "That's a very pretty dress."

Suzette gave a trilling laugh. "Oh, this old thing? Why, it's nothing. But thank you for the compliment." She curtseyed again.

Bunny said brightly, "Shall we go in to dinner?"

O o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

Suzette had been looking forward to this for months – her chance to _finally_ talk to Alain! – but now that it was here, she couldn't enjoy it at all. She was so nervous, so terrified of doing or saying the wrong thing, that she couldn't relax. Her corset was laced so tightly that she could hardly breathe, and her stomach was so fluttery with nerves, she couldn't eat. Every bite made her feel sick. Feeling overheated and flushed, she flicked open the Japanese fan her mother had given her as a prop, and fanned herself in the flirtatious way her mother had taught her, hoping to cool herself at the same time.

Her mother politely asked Alain about his trip to Paris. Suzette was eager to hear about Paris, and she was bursting with questions: _Is Paris really as glamorous as they say? Are the buildings as tall as the sky? Do the people all rush around in a hurry, or do they stop to chat and gossip like we do here? Does everyone in Paris wear fancy clothes? Did you go to the theater while you were there? Or the opera? Or museums? Are the shops full of all kinds of marvellous things we can't get here in the country? What was your favorite part about Paris?_

But mindful of her mother's warning not to be a chatterbox, and to seem "mysterious" instead, Suzette repressed her enthusiasm, difficult as it was. She dutifully stuck to the planned script, reacting to everything Alain said with "How delightful" or "How fascinating." To her disappointment, after just a few perfunctory sentences about his trip, the conversation turned away from Paris, and Alain and her father began talking about business at the gunshop. Suzette's mind began to wander.

"This meal is delicious, Madame Armurier," Alain said at one point.

"How fascinating!" Suzette said automatically without thinking. Alain gave her a strange look. Suzette blushed and looked away, feeling mortified. _Aagh! I must sound so stupid! _she thought, cringing.

Bunny jumped in hurriedly. "Do you know, this _entire_ meal was cooked by Suzette? She's a wonderful cook!"

"Oh?" Alain looked at Suzette. "My compliments, it's delicious. So you like to cook?"

"Oh, yes," Suzette said hurriedly, eager to erase her mistake. She remembered to keep up the posh accent, as her mother had instructed. "I simply _adore_ the culinary arts." There! That sounded elegant and Parisian! She glanced at her mother, who nodded approvingly.

"What's your favorite food?" Alain asked.

At the simple question, Suzette panicked. She was under so much pressure, it felt like a test. She knew that everything she did and said tonight had to be absolutely _perfect; _one wrong answer could destroy everything! What was the right answer here??? Her mind was a total blank.

Alain was waiting. Suzette tried desperately to think. She had to say _something! _Suddenly she remembered a trick her mother had taught her about speaking to men. "What's _your _favorite?" she asked, turning the question back to him.

"Mine?" He thought a moment. "I think I'd have to say...chicken dumplings with buttermilk biscuits."

"That's mine too!" Suzette said immediately, relieved that he'd given her the answer. She batted her eyes at him for good measure.

Bunny beamed. "Well, isn't _that_ a coincidence!"

As the meal went on, Suzette decided it would be better to just _listen_ to Alain and not try to say anything. It was easier. As he conversed with her parents, she just gazed at him, overcome with how charming and intelligent he was...and how handsome, of course.

At one point, he made a joke, and Suzette giggled – but then remembered with horror that she wasn't _supposed_ to giggle! She tried to stifle herself mid-giggle, but ended up choking and having a huge coughing fit. _Oh, no! _she thought desperately, as her whole body shook from the coughing spasm. _Coughing isn't elegant at ALL! _

She was ruining everything!

"Are you all right?" Alain asked with alarm.

Suzette nodded, unable to speak, her eyes watering. Then to her utter humiliation, she started hiccupping! Could things get any _worse?_

Quickly she drank a big cup of water, then carefully took a few slow breaths. She struggled to regain her dignity. "Yes, I am quite well now. Thank you for your concern," she said graciously.

Finally dinner was over, and Alain said his goodbyes and left. Suzette was actually glad to see him go. This had been the most stressful and exhausting evening of her life!

Back in her bedroom, as her mother unlaced her, she asked nervously, "Mama, how did I do?"

"You were wonderful!_" _her mother assured her. "Did you see Alain's face when you came down the stairs? He couldn't stop staring at you! And all during dinner, I saw that he kept sneaking glances at you. He was totally enthralled -- he could hardly take his eyes off you!"

"But I started coughing—" Suzette said anxiously.

"Yes, well, it happens," her mother acknowledged her with a shrug. "But it worked out fine -- did you see how _worried _he was about you? That boy is utterly smitten with you, believe me!"

"Oh, thank goodness!" Suzette said, feeling as though a huge weight had been taken off her. "So you still think he'll marry me?"

"Definitely," her mother said confidently. "Everything is going according to plan." She kissed Suzette's forehead as the girl got into bed. "Sweet dreams, darling."

"Good night, Mama," Suzette said, settling onto her pillow. The evening hadn't turned out quite how she had envisioned it. After all the planning and waiting, she'd expected a magical night of romance, with Alain gazing adoringly into her eyes like her own personal Prince Charming. Instead, she'd spent the whole evening feeling tense and anxious and sick to her stomach. _Is this what True Love feels like? _she wondered.

But Mama said everything was going perfectly, and Mama always knew best. Suzette snuggled into her pillow and into her favorite fantasy, of her and Alain's wedding. Surely THAT would be the magical day she'd always dreamed of...

O o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

Alain walked home, whistling. The dinner had gone very well, he thought. Monsieur Armurier had treated him like an honored guest, even pouring him wine. _He really MUST like me, _he thought happily. He was glad to think he was doing a good job and meeting his employer's approval. Maybe someday, if he saved up his money for years and years, Monsieur Armurier would even let him buy a part ownership in the shop! Wouldn't that be something?

As he thought of the evening, his thoughts turned to Suzette. Although he'd tried not to stare, he just couldn't help glancing at her during dinner. She was just SO overdressed and out of place in the modest home, and every movement she made was so self-conscious and pretentious, it was hard not to look at her. He'd noticed with fascination that when she raised her cup to drink, she even lifted her pinky finger, as though having tea with royalty.

But although her appearance was attention-grabbing, her conversation wasn't. No matter what he said, Suzette's only comment was "How delightful" or "How fascinating." He wondered if she was even paying attention to the conversation at all. Then when he'd asked her simply what her favorite food was, she couldn't even think of an answer! She just asked him what HE liked and then agreed with that. It seemed that she was incapable of coming up with a thought of her own.

Her mother had said she'd cooked the meal, but privately, Alain doubted it. A girl who wore satin gloves to dinner wasn't likely to want to get her hands dirty with such a menial task as cooking – she might break a nail. Besides, she obviously had spent all day getting dressed and doing her hair; when would she have had _time_ to cook?

_Oh, well, different strokes for different folks, _he thought philosophically, shrugging_. If pretending to be upper class and posh makes her happy, that's up to her. It's got nothing to do with me._

He hoped she was feeling okay after that coughing fit – that could have been serious. Luckily, she'd seemed all right by the time he left, so that was good.

Putting her out of his mind, he went into his house and got ready for bed.

O o o o o o o

At church the next day, Suzette couldn't concentrate on the service at all. All she could think about was whether Alain was there and if he would speak to her afterwards. Her mother insisted she NOT turn around or appear to be looking for him at all, so all she could do was sit facing forward and wonder if he was looking at her and what he thought. She was dressed less flamboyantly than she had at dinner – it _was _church, after all – but her dress was attractive, and she wore the same elaborate hairstyle. She hoped it would be enough to draw his attention.

After the service, as the parishioners milled around chatting with each other, Suzette's mother elbowed her in the ribs. "He's coming this way!" she whispered in excitement. "Remember: be alluring, but sophisticated!"

Suzette tried desperately to think of something to do or say that would come across as both alluring AND sophisticated. But she had no time to think about it because Alain and his family had arrived.

Belle spoke first. "Good afternoon! I wanted to thank you for inviting Alain to dinner last night."

"Yes, thanks," Alain said politely. "I had a very nice time."

_He's SUCH a gentleman! _Suzette thought, trying hard not to swoon. He looked so handsome in his Sunday suit. She tried to contain her enthusiasm, and instead demurely lowered her eyelashes. "It was our pleasure. I do hope you will be able to honor us with your presence on another occasion."

Alain hesitated an instant, then said, "Thank you, that would be very nice."

_YES! He wants to see me again! _Suzette thought ecstatically. _Just like Mama said he would! _She closed her eyes for a moment, picturing their someday wedding, Alain looking at her lovingly as he said "I do"...

A small voice piped up. "Wow. Your hair is SO fancy! Just like a princess!"

For a wild instant, Suzette fantasized that it was _Alain_ who had said such a wonderful thing to her. But no -- the voice was much higher than his, and when she opened her eyes, she saw that he had already walked away and was talking to his friends across the room.

Confused, Suzette turned to see who had complimented her. It was Alain's little sister, Lili. Suzette had to smile at the sight of the little girl in a purple velvet dress and a huge, feathered hat that almost covered her eyes. "What a lovely hat!" Suzette complimented her.

Lili beamed. "Thanks!" she said happily. "Papa got it for me in Paris!"

"It's _gorgeous!" _Suzette told her enthusiastically_._ "I wish I had a hat like that!"

"But if you had a big hat like this, it would cover up your hair," Lili pointed out. "And your hair is SOOOO pretty! I wish _my_ hair could go all curly like that!"

"Oh, it could! It just takes rollers," Suzette said. She had an idea. "Would you like to come to my house sometime, and I could do your hair like mine?"

Lili's eyes widened. "Really? You could make my hair like that? Could we do it TODAY???"

Bunny immediately burst in. "Of course, you sweet child! You can come back to our house right now after church, and we'll have lunch, and Suzette will do your hair so fancy, you won't even believe it!" She looked at Belle. "Is that all right with you?"

Belle looked a bit confused that Bunny was inviting her 6-year-old over, but nodded. "That's very kind of you."

"Oh, she's such an adorable child, it will be our pleasure!" Bunny assured her.

Lili was bouncing up and down in excitement, her hat falling sideways on her head. "Yay! I can't wait! Thanks so much!"

Suzette laughed. "You're very welcome! Let's go do it right now!" Suzette loved children, and she'd always wished she had a little sister. She was looking forward to the afternoon. It would be fun to play dress-up with Lili.

"Let me just go and get my coat!" Lili said. "Don't leave without me!"

"I won't, I promise," Suzette said with a smile.

As the little girl went to put on her coat, Bunny pulled Suzette aside and whispered confidentially, "Clever, clever girl! That was a _brilliant _idea, to get Alain's sister on our side!"

"What?" Suzette said in confusion. "Oh...I wasn't even thinking of that...I just thought it would be fun. She's really sweet."

"Oh." Bunny thought about that. "Hm...Well, no matter, as long as the result is the same!" She beamed. _Befriending Alain's sister can only help our cause...hm, that reminds me, I really have to invite Belle over for tea again one day soon... _she thought, already coming up with further schemes.

Meanwhile, Lili came bouncing back up to Suzette, wearing her coat. "I'm all ready! Are you _sure_ you can get my hair to look like yours?"

"Definitely!" Suzette said. "And, oh! After I do your hair, I have some jewelry you can try on too! Nothing very expensive, just beads and things, but it's fun. And I even have a little bit of fancy powder and rouge you can try!"

"Wow, _really?"_ Lili was in heaven.

Suzette took the little girl's hand. "Come on!" she said impulsively. "Let's run all the way back to my house, as fast as we can!" Laughing, the two ran off for an afternoon of dress-up.


	26. I'll Make a Man Out Of You

It was a beautiful October day, perfect for hunting...which only made it more discouraging to Gaston when, once again, he and Georges came home empty-handed. Gaston had had high hopes for the day: he had been working hard with Georges for the past two weeks on his target shooting, and the boy had done very well. Not as perfect as Mimi, of course, but certainly well enough that Gaston was certain he would bag something when they went into the forest. His hopes had been raised even higher when they spotted two deer and an elk over the course of the day. Gaston hadn't done any shooting himself, wanting Georges to finally have the success he deserved...but yet again, Georges had missed every shot. Gaston just couldn't understand it. Georges looked more and more unhappy as the day went on, so Gaston kept trying to be positive, but privately he was baffled. Georges successfully made harder shots than these when they practiced at home with targets...why did he always miss when it really counted?

As they arrived home, Gaston said, "You go on into the house, son. I need to go to town for some supplies."

"Sure, Papa," Georges said quietly. He entered the house, took off his jacket, and sat on the couch with a dejected sigh. It was obvious that Papa was getting frustrated at Georges' lack of hunting success, although he tried hard not to show it and kept saying encouraging things. Georges didn't know what to do. He felt so miserable and guilty. He couldn't go on like this forever...but how could he tell his father the truth?

His mother came in from the kitchen and smiled to see him. "Georges, you're home early!" she said warmly. "Where's your father?"

"Went into town," Georges replied.

She looked at him closely. "Is something wrong?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Georges said with a sigh.

She sat down next to him. "Well, if you ever do want to talk, you know I'm always here," she said, patting his hand. "Anyway, I have something that I _know_ will cheer you up." She jumped up, went to a drawer, and returned with an envelope, which she handed to him, her eyes twinkling with anticipation. "Herve' wrote back about your poems!"

"Really?" Georges turned over the envelope excitedly. Then he hesitated. "Did you read it? Does he say good things?" he asked anxiously.

"See for yourself," Belle said, smiling.

George eagerly scanned the letter, his eyes widening as he read the glowing comments: "'...remarkable talent...uncommonly vivid imagery and depth of emotion...masterful use of metaphor...with training and experience, he has the potential to become a truly important writer of our time, a new Shakespeare or Moliere'...Wow!" Georges breathed. "I can't believe it!"

Belle was beaming. "I am _so_ proud of you, Georges! I always knew you were something special." She gave him a big hug.

It warmed Belle's heart to see her son looking so happy. He'd been so withdrawn and anxious lately – it worried her.

"He even says I should go to his university when I'm older and study to become a REAL poet!" Georges said excitedly. He looked up at his mother. "Do you think I really COULD go to the university?"

"Of course!" Belle assured him, delighted. "It's wonderful that you're already thinking about your future! You saw what Herve' said: with your talent, you could be the next Shakespeare! You never know."

She paused a moment, caught up in the vision of her own son's name embossed in gold on the leather spines of books in bookshops around the world. How amazing to think that a son of hers could reach such heights!

She hugged him again. "I've always told you: You can be anything you want to be, Georges. Follow your heart and make your dreams come true."

"I know..." Georges said hesitantly. "But...what about Papa?"

That brought Belle back to reality. How _would_ Gaston react? she wondered. "Well..." she hedged. "I'm sure he'll be just as proud as I am!"

Georges looked doubtful. "I don't know. I don't think he really likes poems."

Her son was too perceptive, Belle thought ruefully. "It doesn't matter," she assured him. "This is about you, and what YOU want to do with your life. Your father loves you. He wants you to be happy, whatever you choose to do."

"I think he'd be happier if I was great at hunting, like Mimi," Georges said sadly.

Belle winced, knowing he was probably right. "Everyone has different talents, Georges. There's no law that says you have to be great at hunting," she assured him. "As long as you do your best, that's all that counts."

To her surprise, Georges looked guilty and anxious at her words. "Georges?" she asked in confusion. "Is something wrong?"

Hesitantly, he asked, "Can...can I tell you something?"

"Of course, honey. You can tell me anything," Belle said, concerned.

"About the hunting...well..." He took a deep breath. "I really _don't _do my best. The truth is, I _can _make the shots. I just don't want to. All this time, I've been missing on purpose."

"Missing on purpose?" Belle was confused. "Why?

"I just don't want to kill anything. I feel bad for the animals," he confessed. He looked up at her, his eyes so anxious and vulnerable that it broke her heart. "I feel terrible about it! Papa's been working with me all this time, trying so hard to get me to be better...and I _know _it would make him so happy if I got something...but then, when I see an animal, I just can't bring myself to kill it. I feel sorry for it. Maybe that makes me weak, but-"

"Oh, _Georges."_ Belle hugged him, moved by his admission. "Of _course_ that doesn't make you weak! It just means that you're sensitive and compassionate. There's nothing wrong with that."

"Really?" Georges said. "But Papa always says hunting is important because it puts food on the table. And that a real man hunts to provide for his family."

"Well, hunting _does _put food on the table," Belle agreed. "But it's certainly not the _only _way! Another way is to earn a living doing something that you're good at and that you love to do, and then use the money you earn to _buy_ food. Why, look at Grandpa: he doesn't hunt, but he earns a very good living as a successful inventor. He even won an award, remember?"

"That's right!" Georges said enthusiastically, feeling more hopeful.

"The wonderful thing about people is that they're all different," Belle went on. "Everyone is unique, with their own special talents. It would be boring if everyone was good at the _same _thing!" Then Belle looked puzzled. "But Georges, I have to ask: why didn't you tell us sooner? All this time, I could see you were unhappy, but your father said it was because you were _trying _to be good at hunting."

Georges sighed. "I didn't want Papa to find out. It's so important to him for us to be hunters like him. I didn't want to disappoint him."

"So all this time you've been _pretending_ to like it?" Belle asked sympathetically. What a strain he must have been under! "Georges, believe me, you don't ever have to put on an act with us. We're your _parents. _We love you, and we'll _always_ love you, no matter what. You need to talk to your father about this. You have to tell him the truth. I'm sure he'll understand."

"I don't know," Georges said uncertainly.

"It's important to be honest with the people you love," Belle urged him. "It's not healthy to live a lie. And you never know, he might surprise you."

"Well...I'll think about it," Georges said finally.

"Good," Belle said approvingly. She hugged him again. "I'm glad you confided in me."

At dinner, Gaston kept talking optimistically about the next time they would go hunting, and the strategies they could try to help Georges' aim improve. Belle kept hoping Georges would speak up, but he didn't. She could see the conflict in his eyes. It was so hard for him to admit the truth to his father.

Suddenly she had a thought. _Maybe I can help_. _I'm Georges' mother, after all. It's my job to help him through the rough spots. _And she had been married to Gaston for so many years; she knew how to talk to him.

She knew the truth would be a blow to Gaston – he had always cherished the notion of his sons being champion hunters like himself. She would have to approach it carefully. But she knew Gaston loved his children, and their happiness was the most important thing to him. She was positive that she would be able to help Gaston understand how Georges felt. Her heart lightened at the thought of resolving the problem between the husband and son she loved so much.

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

After the children were in bed, Gaston was about to go out to the tavern. But Belle stopped him. "Gaston, wait. I need to tell you something. I spoke to Georges today about his hunting, and I finally found out what the problem is."

_"Really?"_ Gaston immediately gave her his full attention. "Honey, that's great! What is it?" He was ready to do anything to help his son overcome his problem and finally bag his first trophy.

"First, you need to know that he's been afraid to tell you about it, because he doesn't want to upset you," Belle went on. "So you really need to be understanding about it, and let him know that it's all right and you're not mad."

Gaston frowned, not at all happy to hear that his son was keeping things from him. "But I'm his _father," _he said, a bit hurt_. _"He should know he can tell me anything_._ Whatever the problem is, I'm here to help him."

"Good. I knew you'd feel that way." But Belle still hesitated, trying to find the right words. "The thing is, Gaston...Georges isn't like you."

Gaston nodded. "I know," he said sympathetically. "He didn't inherit my talent for hunting like Mimi did. I know he feels bad that she's the one bringing home all the trophies. But not _everyone_ can be as amazing as me! He needs to know that that's all right. As long as he keeps practicing, he can still be _decent_ at it."

Belle shook her head. "No, that's not what I meant. Gaston...Georges _feels _things differently from you. He's a very special boy: he's sensitive, and—"

"Get to the point, Belle," Gaston interrupted, beginning to get impatient. He had no clue what she was aiming at. "What's going on?"

"All right." She looked into his eyes. "The truth is...Georges hasn't made a kill because he doesn't _want _to. He feels sorry for the animals, and he hates the thought of hurting them. So all this time, he's been missing the shots on purpose."

"What?" Gaston stared at her blankly, unable to comprehend this. Whatever he had expected her to say, it wasn't that. "He's been missing on _purpose?_"

"Yes."

Gaston was thunderstruck, trying to process this. He thought of all the hunting trips they'd gone on over the years, all the times he'd spent helping Georges practice shooting. Good times, he'd thought – a father teaching his son, passing down his knowledge to the next generation, the two of them sharing their passion for the sport and the great outdoors. He'd always thought that they were _close,_ buddies as well as father and son. He'd believed that Georges looked up to his father and wanted to be exactly like him, following in his footsteps.

To find out that Georges had never wanted to be there and was _lying_ to him all this time cut him to the quick. All those times Georges had seemed to be trying so hard to do his best, he was actually missing _deliberately,_ trying to deceive his father. Because he was so upset at the very _idea_ of hunting that he couldn't stomach it.

Gaston just couldn't fathom it. How could it be? _All_ the men in his family had been hunters, going back countless generations, and they'd all been good at it – legendary, in fact. Hell, even his _daughter _was a better hunter than most men would ever be! And he'd raised his kids up right – so how could a son of his possibly have gotten _so_ squeamish that he couldn't bring himself to bag a rabbit or a deer?

It just didn't make sense. What could have _happened_ to Georges to make him feel that way? There had to be _something_ that had done this to him...

Suddenly, like a thunderbolt, the answer came to him. "Damn it! It's all that poetry! _That's _what did this to him!"

_"What?_" Belle was flabbergasted.

"And I hate to say it, Belle, but _you're _to blame for it," Gaston went on accusingly. "I _told _you all that poetry wasn't good for a boy! I _said_ it would make him soft and weak. But no_,_ you told me I was being ridiculous! You had to keep _encouraging_ it!" Gaston was getting more and more worked up. "Now look at him – my own son, too squeamish to bring down so much as a quail! And too afraid to even _tell _me! His own father!"

"Stop it!" Belle said, getting angry herself. "This has nothing to do with _poetry!_ This is just how Georges _is._ He doesn't like killing."

"And you're the reason why! You made him read all that sappy sweet poetry about daffodils and rainbows! You even made him write his _own _poems. You took the manliness right out of him!" Gaston slammed his hand down on the table. "Well, I'm putting a stop to it right now. He's _my_ son, and it's time for me to step in and fix this before you totally ruin him."

_"Ruin_ him? What on earth do you mean?"

"I mean that I am _not _going to let you turn my son turn into a timid little coward like that milksop Hervé! He's going to be a _real _man!"

Belle rolled her eyes. "So you think the only measure of a 'real man' is if he can hunt?" she snapped. "Well, I disagree."

Gaston shook his head. "Look, Belle, you're a smart woman, and you know about a lot of things. But you _don't_ understand what it means to be a _man._ I'm his father. It's _my_ job to teach him that." He went to the stairs and called up. "Georges! Come down here!"

Georges appeared at the top of the stairs. "What's wrong?"

"Come here," Gaston said. Georges came down, looking at his father in confusion.

Gaston got right to the point. "Georges, your mother tells me you've been _lying_ to me! She says you don't want to hunt and you've been missing on purpose all this time. Is that true?"

Georges' eyes widened. He shot Belle a look of accusation.

"I didn't say it like _that!"_ Belle protested.

Gaston ignored her. "Georges? Is it true?"

Georges swallowed. "Yes," he admitted quietly, looking down at the floor.

Gaston nodded. "Come in the other room with me, Georges. We need to have a father-son talk."

"No," Belle said firmly. "Whatever you have to say to Georges, you can say in front of _me."_

Gaston looked exasperated. "Look, Belle, Georges and I need to talk man to man. And I don't need _your_ permission to talk to him! He's my son!"

"He's _my _son too, and I have a right to be involved in his life!" Belle shot back.

"You're _too _involved, if you ask me!" Gaston retorted. "That's why we have this problem!"

"_Stop it!"_ Georges interrupted, upset. He hated to see his parents fight. "Mama, look, I'll talk to Papa. It's all right."

Gaston looked satisfied. Belle looked worried. "Are you sure, honey?" she asked in a soft tone. Georges nodded.

"All right," Gaston said. "Let's go." He put his hand on Georges' shoulder and ushered him into the den.

Gaston closed the door and gestured to a chair. "Have a seat." Georges sat, looking apprehensive. Seeing his expression, Gaston softened. Georges was a great kid, always had been. He'd just gotten a little mixed up, that's all. But it was all right. Gaston would help his son sort things out. That was what a father was for.

"Look, son...I'm not _mad_ at you," Gaston said kindly. "But I _am_ upset to hear that you've been keeping things from me. I thought we were close - that you could talk to me about anything."

"I'm sorry, Papa," Georges said earnestly. "I _wanted_ to tell you, but...I just couldn't. I was afraid you'd be disappointed in me."

Gaston looked at him sympathetically. "Georges, listen to me. I'm your _father._ If you have a problem, I want to know about it, so I can help you. That's what I'm here for!" he said reassuringly.

Georges looked relieved. "Thanks, Papa."

Gaston ruffled his hair affectionately and continued. "So don't worry. We have a problem, but we're going to solve it together, you and me." He sat down in a chair facing Georges. "Now...you've been purposely missing all your shots because you get upset when you think of shooting an animal. Is that right?"

Georges nodded. "Yes. It just...it feels _wrong _to me, Papa. I mean, I know it's for food and all, but I look at the animals, and I just...I can't kill them. I don't _want_ to."

"I see," Gaston said. "Now, you know what made you feel that way, don't you?"

Georges looked puzzled. "No..."

"It's all that _poetry," _Gaston said, spitting the word out in disgust.

Georges stared at him, appalled. "What?"

Gaston stood up and started pacing. "I blame myself. I _knew _I shouldn't have let it go on so long! But your mother kept encouraging it, and you seemed to like it, so I went against my better judgement. That was a mistake." He sighed and shook his head. "All that sentimental stuff about rainbows and moonbeams and butterflies...It's just not healthy for a boy. You start getting all soft and squeamish, and that's not good. A man needs to be tough to survive in this world."

He turned back to Georges. "We need to get you back on track. So the first thing to do is cut out the poetry."

"Cut it out completely?" Georges was horrified.

"Well...for a while, at least," Gaston said, seeing how upset Georges was. "Depending how things go, maybe later on you can read a poem once in a while. But right now, you need to start focusing on _real _things, son, not all this dreamy misty-eyed stuff."

How could Georges live without poetry? It was like living without air. But he could see that his father was unmoving on the point. "All right," Georges said miserably.

Gaston nodded, satisfied. He'd known Georges would see things his way, once he explained it. "Good boy," he said approvingly. "And the other thing you need to do is to finally make a kill of your own."

Georges went pale. "Papa, no! I don't want to!"

"I _know _you don't want to, son. But you _need _to, in order to get over this fear of yours," Gaston said, sympathetically but firmly. He sighed. "I really wish you had told me about this years ago – it would have been so much easier. If I'd made you bag something when you were younger, you'd have seen it was no big deal, and you'd be fine now. But don't you see? You kept putting it off, avoiding it. So over time, it became a _huge_ thing in your mind, something to dread. It got blown all out of proportion, so now you're afraid of it."

"Papa, please, listen," Georges said desperately. "I just _can'_t."

"Yes, you can. I have faith in you," Gaston said encouragingly. "Georges, listen. I know this is hard for you. But I wouldn't be doing my job as a father if I let you run away or give up every time something was hard. It's all right to be afraid, but you can't let your fear _rule _you. You do that, you end up a spineless coward, afraid to do _anything." _The image of Hervé Liseur came to his mind, quaking and trembling at the first hint of danger. Gaston's jaw tightened in resolve. "I'm _not _going to let that happen to you," he said with determination. "You have to face your fear and overcome it, Georges. That's what being a man is all about."

He put his hand on Georges' shoulder. "Son, there comes a time in every man's life when he has to show what he's made of. This is your time. You have a challenge to face. Meet it head on, and triumph over it. Make me proud. I know you can do it." He smiled. "You're _my_ son, after all."

Georges looked trapped, like a rabbit staring down the barrel of a rifle. "But Papa...it feels _wrong _to me."

Gaston waved the objection away. "Believe me, son, once you feel that thrill that comes from bagging a prize buck, you'll understand what it's all about, and you'll laugh at how silly you were to be worried! Trust me." Gaston grinned, confident that he was right.

Georges looked down at the floor. "All right," he said softly, defeated.

"Great. We'll go tomorrow. You can skip school for once – this is more important." Gaston smiled. "I'm proud of you, son. I know this is hard for you, but it's the best thing. Trust me, once you do this, it'll change _everything,"_ he said encouragingly.

"Can I go to my room now?" Georges asked.

"Sure," Gaston said. "You get your rest. Tomorrow is an important day." He ruffled Georges' hair again and gave him a playful punch on the shoulder. "Everything's going to be fine, you'll see."

Georges went to his room and sat down on the bed, filled with a sickening sense of dread. _Maybe Papa is right, _he thought, trying to convince himself. _Maybe I DO need to face my fear. _Papa seemed so _certain_ that if he just killed one animal, suddenly his feelings would change completely and he wouldn't mind at all. Georges couldn't imagine that happening. Just the thought of killing a defenseless animal made him feel sick.

But the alternative was even worse: his father, whom he idolized, being ashamed of him and thinking he was a coward. Georges cringed. He had no choice - he _had _to do what Papa wanted. If he refused, Papa would always look at Georges with disappointment in his eyes - the cowardly son who'd failed to be a man. Georges just couldn't bear that.

Tomorrow was going to be the worst day of Georges' life. _But if I can just get through it, _he thought_, just SURVIVE it, then maybe it'll finally all be over. I'll prove to Papa that I can get a trophy, and then Papa will be happy, and I'll never, ever have to do it again, _he thought fervently_. And then maybe Papa will let me have my poetry again... _

It was Georges' only hope. He couldn't see any other way out.

There was a knock at the door, and his mother came in. She sat down on the side of his bed. "Georges?" she said softly. "Are you all right?"

He shrugged, not saying anything. There was nothing to say.

Belle sighed. "Georges, I'm so sorry! I thought if I talked to him, I could make him understand. I was just trying to help! I don't blame you if you're angry with me."

She sounded so upset, he couldn't be mad. "It's not your fault," Georges said. "It had to come out sooner or later, I guess."

She smiled, relieved he wasn't angry. "I suppose you're right. But George, listen to me: you don't HAVE to go hunting tomorrow."

"Yes, I do," Georges said, miserable but resigned. "Papa says I have to. There's no other way."

Anger flashed in Belle's eyes. "No. He can't _make_ you—"

"Mama, stop! Don't fight with him!" Georges begged. "I _hate _it when you two fight! Especially when it's all my fault!"

Belle was shocked. "Oh, Georges...Honey, it's _never_ your fault. Don't ever think that! Papa and I just disagree sometimes, that's all."

But Georges knew the truth. They were arguing because of _him._ "Mama, listen, I'm tired. I just want to go to bed. All right?"

"All right," Belle said, but she sounded worried. _And that's my fault too, _Georges thought. He prayed that tomorrow would bring an end to all of this pressure – he didn't think he could take much more of it.

Belle marched into her bedroom, where Gaston was whistling as he got ready for bed. It incensed her to see him so cheerful when he was making Georges so unhappy. "Gaston, you can't _do _this! You can't force George to hunt! Can't you see you're hurting him?"

"I'm not hurting him, I'm _helping_ him!" Gaston protested. "You're overreacting, Belle. That's another reason why George is so sensitive – you make such a big deal out of everything!"

Seeing her hurt expression, Gaston sighed. He took hold of her shoulders and looked her in the eye. "I'm sorry. Look, Belle, you're a terrific mother, you really are. It's wonderful how caring you are, how much you worry about the kids. But you really have to _trust _me on this. You're not a man, so you don't understand what it's like to be a boy, and you don't know what a boy needs! That's _my _job. You're blowing this all up out of proportion. The fact is that _all_ boys face challenges – it's part of growing up. Georges' problem is that he lacks confidence. He has a fear of hunting, so what he needs to do is face his fear head-on and overcome it. That's the only way he can become a man."

For just an instant, Belle wavered. Gaston was so sure of himself, so absolutely _positive _that he was right. And it was true that she _didn't _actually know what it was like to be a boy...

But then she thought of the joy in Georges' eyes when he had read the letter from Herve, followed by his utter misery when he told her he had to go hunting. And she knew in her bones that this would end in disaster.

"Gaston, please, listen to me. I know you think you're doing the right thing, but you're not," she implored earnestly. "You say you're trying to turn him into a man - but Gaston, what you're _really_ doing is trying to turn him into _you. _And he's _not _you."

She looked beseechingly at him, willing him to understand. "You need to accept Georges for who he _is, _not who you _want_ him to be. That's the only way he can ever be happy."

Gaston sighed and shook his head. "Belle, my darling, you know I love you. And so I mean this in the kindest way possible: you _think _too much." He smiled and patted her cheek. "You're making this complicated, when really it's very simple! I know perfectly well who Georges is: he's my son. And I'm his father. And I know what's best for him. That's all there is to it."

He yawned and stretched. "Enough of this! I'm tired of arguing. I'm taking him hunting tomorrow, and that's final." Seeing how worried she looked, he gave her a kiss on the forehead, as though reassuring a child. "It'll all work out fine, believe me," he promised. "You wait and see: when Georges comes home tomorrow night with his very first trophy, he'll be like a different kid!"

_That's just what I'm afraid of, _Belle thought. _Georges doesn't need to be a DIFFERENT kid - he just needs to be Georges! _But she could see she wasn't going to make Gaston understand, even if she talked herself blue in the face. Wearily she changed into her nightclothes and went to bed, fearing what the next day would bring.

Glad that she'd finally stopped arguing, Gaston likewise got into bed. He was full of anticipation for the next day. Finally, at long last, Georges would become a man and see what he was really capable of! Gaston smiled as closed his eyes. _After tomorrow, everything will be different._


	27. One Fateful, Wrong Decision

Georges lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, full of dread. The morning light was just starting to steal through the window. The worst day of his life was about to begin.

"Well, better get it over with," he muttered, getting up to get dressed.

Alain spoke up from the other bed. "You sure you want to go through with this?" he asked, propping himself up on one elbow. Georges had filled him in on the situation the night before.

"No. I don't_ want_ to go through with it," George said with a sigh. "But I already told Papa I didn't want to, and he said I _have_ to. He won't let up until I do it. And besides...I don't want him to think I'm a coward." He sat down on the bed. "But it's just one day, right?" he added hopefully, trying to be positive and will himself to overcome his challenge, like Papa had said. "I just have to get through it, and then he'll be happy and it'll all be over."

"Well, good luck," Alain said sympathetically. "I hope it works out."

As Georges came downstairs, he saw his parents at the kitchen table. Gaston grinned at the sight of him. "Good, you're up and dressed already! Just can't wait to get started, right? Me either!" Seeing Georges' doubtful expression, Gaston's smile faded a bit. "I _told _you, son, this is the best thing. You'll see: when you come home today, knowing you bagged a trophy, you'll be so proud and busting to tell everyone! It's the greatest feeling in the world! You'll laugh at how silly you were to be worried about it. Believe me."

Georges tried to smile back. Maybe his father was right. Maybe he _was _just being silly. It didn't feel that way – it felt like there was a lead weight on his chest – but he was only a kid, after all. What did he know? His father was a grownup, and they were always right. Weren't they?

Mimi came running down the stairs, followed by Lili. Seeing her father's rifle leaning against the table next to him, she clapped her hands. "You're going hunting today? I'm coming too, right?"

Gaston shook his head. "Not today, wildcat. Today is Georges' day." He smiled proudly at Georges, adding, "It's a day he'll remember all his life."

Mimi immediately opened her mouth to protest...then, uncharacteristically, decided not to. She didn't understand what was going on, but she sensed that it was something important that she couldn't interfere with. So she just said, "Good luck, Georges." But she couldn't help adding, "I wish I could go with you!"

_I wish you could go INSTEAD of me, _Georges thought, but replied, "Thanks."

Gaston gestured at the table. "Have some breakfast, Georges. You don't want to go out on an empty stomach."

Georges shook his head. His stomach was too tied up in knots to eat. "I'm not hungry. Can we just go?" As much as he dreaded it, he wanted to get it over with.

Gaston laughed. "I understand. I'm eager to get going too!" He pushed back his chair and stood up. "Well, we're off."

Belle, who had been watching Georges worriedly, stood up too. "Just a minute," she said. She went over to George, drew him aside and said softly, "Honey, you don't have to do this."

Georges looked up at her. "Yes, I do," he said quietly.

Belle sighed. One word from him, and she would have fought this ill-conceived plan tooth and nail. But he seemed resigned to seeing it through. She gave him a hug. "Be careful," she said. "And always know you can change your mind, even _after _you're out there. Don't let him talk you into anything."

_Easier said than done, _Georges thought. He just wasn't able to stand up to his father the way she did. But he only nodded.

Gaston was waiting impatiently by the front door, rifle in hand. "Come on, Georges."

"I'm coming." Georges got his rifle and, with one last look at Belle, headed out the door with his father.

The forest was shady and cool and peaceful, belying the tension and anxiety Georges felt. It was a beautiful day. Georges wished he could just explore and enjoy the sights and sounds of nature, without any pressure. _After this is all over and I prove I can do it, I won't have to worry about it anymore, and then I'll come back to the forest just to sit and watch everything, _he promised himself.

They settled in a secluded spot to wait for game. The hours ticked by. Part of Georges prayed the animals would stay away...but then, he realized, he would have to keep coming back again and again until he accomplished his grim mission. Maybe it was better to get it over with.

Suddenly his father gripped Georges' arm. "There," he whispered softly. A magnificent buck had silently drifted into the clearing, its antlers branching toward the sky. "Isn't he a beauty?" Gaston commented admiringly.

"Yes," Georges said with trepidation. The buck _was _beautiful – pure poetry in motion. How could he possibly go through with this? He looked at his father, then back at the doomed deer, now nibbling at something on the ground, unaware of the danger. "Do I have to?" he asked, almost pleadingly.

"Of course – that's why we're here! You can do it," Gaston told him. "Make me proud, son."

His voice was encouraging, but with an undertone of command, allowing no refusal. It was clear there was no getting out of this – his father was absolutely adamant. Feeling trapped, Georges aimed the rifle. His stomach was clenched in tight knots. _Just once, _Georges told himself. _Just do it this once, and then it will all be over. _Holding his breath, he squeezed the trigger.

The bullet blasted the deer in the chest. Immediately it fell to the ground, its legs flailing, struggling to regain its footing.

Georges felt cold and numb inside as he watched the blood pooling under the deer. For several awful, endless seconds, its eyes were wild with terror...then the life faded from them and they became glassy, unseeing. Georges stared at the deer, once so full of grace and vitality, now lifeless and bloody on the ground...all because of him. _I'm sorry, _he thought, trying not to cry. _I'm so sorry... _

Simultaneously, Gaston's heart swelled with pride as he admired the deer, his son's first hunting triumph. It was a fine buck, with a 12-point rack of antlers that would make an enviable trophy. He turned to Georges and saw his son staring at it too, as if he couldn't quite believe he'd really done it. Gaston laughed out loud, jubilant. "What did I tell you? I always _knew _you had it in you, Georges!" he crowed. He clapped Georges on the back. "You did it, son! You really did it! I'm proud as punch of you!"

His son didn't answer, just kept staring wordlessly at the deer. Gaston grinned. The boy was in awe of his own triumph, just like himself at that age. "I remember when I got _my _first deer," he reminisced. "It's a great feeling, isn't it?"

Now Georges looked up at him. "No," he said desolately. "I just feel sick. Can we go home now?"

Gaston was startled. Now that he looked closer, he could see that Georges did look a little green. He felt a sharp pang of disappointment - he'd been looking forward to this moment for _years! _ He'd been SO certain that once Georges experienced this triumph, it would all click into place and he'd become the enthusiastic hunter Gaston knew he could be. He'd never expected Georges to be _upset._

For just a moment, Gaston was uncertain, at a loss for what to do to help his son. His own father would have yelled harshly at the boy to toughen up and be a man already, not a fainthearted milksop. But Gaston didn't want to go that route. He wanted Georges to know his father was on his side. Admittedly, deep down he couldn't help feeling impatient with Georges' squeamishness – those years of poetry had done more damage than he had realized! But Gaston wanted to be more understanding than his father, although he had the same goal: to turn his son into a strong, brave, tough man who could handle any challenge without flinching.

Instinctively, he fell back on his lifelong tried-and-true strategy: just keep persevering until the problem was solved. "Well..." he said reassuringly, "I guess bagging a deer must feel a little strange to you, after all those years of dreading it and being afraid of it. You just need some time to get _used_ to it, that's all." He nodded, convincing himself that this was the case. "But don't worry, son, it'll be okay. Why, a few more kills like that, it'll be like you were hunting all your life! You'll see."

Georges stared at him in horror. "NO!" he burst out, almost in tears. "No more hunting! I can't kill anything else!"

"Of _course_ you can!" Gaston said confidently, brushing away any objection. Always a positive thinker, he had already mentally gotten past this little setback and was optimistically looking toward the future. One thing he'd learned since childhood was that all challenges could be overcome: the key was simply to never give up.

"But Papa, I don't _want _to!" Georges protested. "I already killed this one deer—"

"But that's exactly why you need to go on!" Gaston insisted. "Don't you see? After all your worrying and fretting about it, you _did_ it, Georges! You bagged a fine trophy buck, all by yourself. The hard part is over: you proved you CAN do it! Now all you have to do is keep _on _doing it, and before you know it, it'll feel as natural as rain!" Gaston smiled and patted Georges' shoulder encouragingly. "I'm proud of you, son. You did great. And this is only the beginning!"

George listened in utter disbelief. He opened his mouth to protest yet again...then closed it helplessly as the truth sunk in. _He'll never understand, _he realized with a wave of despair. _There's no point arguing – he can't even hear what I'm saying! _

His father, already thinking of the future, kept up a stream of chatter as he field-dressed the deer and they headed for home. When they got back to the house, Belle immediately came out, looking worried. She must have been watching at the window for their return.

"How was it?" she asked, looking anxiously at Georges.

Gaston answered instead. "He did it! Bagged a magnificent buck with a 12-point rack. Beautiful shot! I couldn't be prouder." He grinned and ruffled George's hair. "I'll have it mounted and put up at the tavern, Georges, so everyone can see it."

Georges pictured that – going to the tavern when he was older and always seeing that deer, the one he had killed, staring at him accusingly with its glassy eyes. He shuddered.

"In fact, why don't we to go the tavern right now?" Gaston went on. "Just you and me. I want all the men to hear about what a fine hunter my boy turned out to be!" He beamed at Georges. "What do you say, son?"

Georges shook his head. He felt nauseous and sick with guilt. The last thing he felt like doing was celebrating. "No," he said quietly. "I don't feel well. Can I go to my room now?"

"Oh...All right," Gaston said, disappointed. "Well, it _was _a big day. I guess you're tired."

"Georges..." Belle said gently. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Georges hesitated. Part of him wanted to crawl into his mother's lap and tell her everything and trust her to make it all better, like when he was a little child. But he wasn't a little child anymore. And his father was standing _right there. _And he knew full well that if he tried to explain, his parents would get into a huge screaming fight, with him in the middle.

Suddenly, Georges felt utterly exhausted. He desperately needed this day to end. "No. I just want to go to bed," he said.

"Okay. You get some rest," Gaston said as Georges headed up the stairs. "I'm very proud of you, son. You did great today."

When Georges was gone, Belle turned to Gaston. "So, he finally got a deer, just like you wanted. Are you happy now? Because he's obviously miserable."

"Don't be silly. He's fine!" Gaston said with a bravado he didn't entirely feel. Georges _did_ seem upset...but after all those years of dreading hunting, that was only natural, he told himself. Georges had overcome a huge hurdle today in making that kill - he just _couldn't_ give up now, right when he was finally making progress! It would take time, but Georges would come around in the end. Gaston was sure of it.

"It was a long day - he's just tired," he told Belle. "He'll be fine in the morning, you'll see. Now I'm off to the tavern to brag about what a great job he did!"

"Gaston, I really think we should talk about this," Belle said seriously.

"There's nothing to talk about. I'm telling you, he'll be fine!" Gaston insisted, brushing off her objections. Georges had finally bagged a trophy after all these years, and Gaston didn't want that triumph ruined by _anything._

o o o o o o o o o o o

Georges lay on his bed despondently, his father's words ringing in his ears: "A few more kills like that, it'll be like you were hunting all your life!" He had thought that if he just made this _one_ kill, that would be the end of it. But no - his father expected him to _continue. _It would never be over.

He felt an unaccustomed surge of anger: anger at his father for making him do this, and even greater anger at himself for letting it happen. _Papa's right – I AM a coward, _he thought. But what could he do, when his father wouldn't listen?

_What if I point-blank refuse? He can't MAKE me pull the trigger, can he? _He tried to imagine what would happen then. _Mama would back me up, and they'd get into a huge fight. And Papa would keep badgering me until I gave in – he NEVER gives up on what he wants. And even if I DID keep refusing, he'd always be ashamed of me and disgusted by me - the son who's too weak and cowardly to do what needs to be done._

He felt a wave of sadness as it struck him that today was the only time in his life that his father had ever truly been proud of him. It was what Georges had always yearned for...but in the end, the price had been just too high. His overwhelming revulsion and guilt overshadowed everything else.

But hunting was the only achievement his father respected. _No matter what else I do in my life...if I don't hunt, then to Papa I'll always be a failure. _That truth hurt, deep in his heart.

There was no way out.

Except...if Georges gave in, like he always did. Then the house would be peaceful again, and there would be no more fighting. His father would be proud of Georges then. But Georges's life would become a never-ending repeat of the horror he'd experienced today, that sickening feeling of pulling the trigger and watching an innocent creature die, over and over again, like a nightmare he could never wake up from. He squeezed his eyes shut in misery at the thought of it.

Then, as he opened his eyes, his gaze unexpectedly fell on the letter on his nightstand – the letter from Hervé Liseur. He picked it up and unfolded it, smoothing it out, reading the words that had brought him such joy: "...remarkable talent...uncommonly vivid imagery and depth of emotion...masterful use of metaphor...with training and experience, he has the potential to become a truly important writer of our time, a new Shakespeare or Moliere..." And then the final line, the one that had sent Georges' hopes soaring: "If you do decide you want to send him on to higher education, you have only to let me know and I will make suitable arrangements. Talent like this deserves to be allowed to grow to its fullest potential in the fertile ground of a _lycee_ and, later, a university."

A fierce longing surged through George. He yearned for that future with every fiber of his being. To sit in the glorious classrooms of the illustrious Sorbonne, spending his days learning all about literature and poetry and working hard to improve his own writing...it would be heaven. And then, one day, maybe he would even be good enough to be published. How wonderful _that_ would be, to actually have a career as a writer!

_But it's never going to happen, _he realized, coming down to earth with a jolt._ Papa will never allow it._ After all, Papa blamed poetry for Georges' dislike of hunting. He had told Georges in no uncertain terms to "cut out the poetry," and he would make sure Georges complied.

Who was Georges kidding? He'd never be able to fulfill his dream...not ever. The poetry he loved so much would be forever lost to him.

_NO!_ Something within Georges snapped. _That's not going to happen. I can't LET it_ _happen! _ Unconsciously his hands clenched into fists. _I'm GOING to go to university and become a writer! he thought fiercely. I have to! Or die trying! _

He looked at the four walls around him. _But I can't do it here. Papa will never let me. _

_Which_ _means...I have to leave_.


	28. Carpe Diem

At the very thought, Georges' heart began pounding. _Could I really do that? _he wondered. _Actually run AWAY? _It was completely unthinkable…and yet, he _was_ thinking about it.

And the more he thought about it, the more it seemed like the only possible solution.

Unconsciously, a smile came over his face as he imagined walking a path lined with stately, ivy-covered buildings toward a library filled with classic literature – more books than he could read in a lifetime. He got even more excited as he pictured himself in a classroom having spirited discussions with other students, making friends who loved poetry as much as he did, listening to wise professors explain all about classic poems and even giving him advice on _his_ poems, helping him improve and praising his talent. It would be pure heaven! Maybe there would even be a university publication where he could actually see his own poems in print for others to read! The thought thrilled him.

And then, someday, maybe, he might actually feel the incredible joy and excitement of having his work published for _real,_ in a fancy leather-bound volume with his name embossed in gold on the cover, and people would line up to buy it at bookstores…His mother would be so proud…

His mother. Georges' smile vanished as he crashed down to earth with a jolt. _She'll be so hurt if I leave, _he thought. He pictured her discovering he was gone, going crazy with worry, missing him so much. Could he really do that to her, cause her so much pain and fear? He was overcome with guilt. What a terrible son he was! Besides which, he would miss her, too. She was the one who understood him, who loved his poems and supported his dream of being a writer.

But that very fact gave him pause. _She said I can be anything I want to be, _he remembered. _And she loves books too, just like me. She was so excited at the idea that I wanted to go to university. So if I write a note explaining everything, she'll understand, won't she? And then when I become a REAL writer and dedicate my first book to her, she'll be so proud, and it will all be worth it. _That made him feel better. His mother would forgive him, he was sure of it. And she could explain it to the rest of the family. She was good with words; she would tell it to them in a way that would make them understand, so they would forgive him too.

But that wasn't his only problem. Far from it. _I'm only 12…I'm not even old enough to enroll in university yet, _he realized. _What can I do until then? Go to a school to prepare me for university, maybe? But that costs a lot of money…_He frowned. How could he ever come up with the price of a fancy private school education like that, let alone the tuition for a prestigious university?

As his thoughts continued, his outlook grew bleaker. _How will I even LIVE? _he wondered in dismay. He started to get scared as he imagined being out in the world, in a strange city far from home, surrounded by uncaring strangers, totally on his own, without any money or food… He shivered in fear.

_This is a crazy idea,_ he thought mournfully, berating himself for his stupidity. _I've got my head in the clouds, just like Papa said. Who am I kidding? I can't run away. I have no money and no plan and nowhere to go! I'm going to be stuck here forever and Papa will make me go hunting every day and I won't ever be allowed to even read poems any more, let alone WRITE any, and I'll be miserable forever!_

He felt like crying as his dream shattered into dust. He'd been a fool to get his hopes up. Sadly, he picked up the letter from Herve, re-reading the glowing words of praise that had filled him with such happiness. It was useless. What good was his talent if he couldn't ever go somewhere where he could learn to _use_ it?

Then, as he dejectedly re-read the letter, one line jumped out at him: _"If you do decide you want to send him on to higher education, you have only to let me know and I will make suitable arrangements. Talent like this deserves to be allowed to grow to its fullest potential in the fertile ground of a__lycee __and, later, a university."_

A sudden inspiration blossomed within Georges. _Of COURSE! Why didn't I think of it before? Professor Liseur will help me!_

He could hardly contain his excitement. The more he thought about it, the more perfect it was! Professor Liseur had said Georges had talent, that he could even become an important writer like Shakespeare or Moliere if he got some training and went to university. He'd even said Georges DESERVED to be allowed to go to school! Of course he'd help, if Georges came to him and explained the situation!

He almost laughed out loud with the joy and relief of it. _That's it then – I'm going!_ he decided giddily. _I'm going to Paris to become a writer, and nothing will stop me!_ He smiled as he remembered his wonderful talk with Professor Liseur when they'd toured the university, that sense that the professor was a kindred spirit. Why, he'd even said Georges reminded him of himself at the same age! He'd be _thrilled_ to find Georges on his doorstep and learn that Georges wanted to follow in his footsteps and go to his university! It was a foolproof plan!

The only question now was…how would he _get _to Paris? Georges frowned, trying to think. Coaches were expensive, and he couldn't very well ask his parents for the money…

A knock at the door startled him. "Come in," he said.

It was his mother, bearing a plate of food. "You didn't come down to dinner," she said, putting the plate on the dresser. "I thought you might be hungry."

"Thanks," he said, feeling a stab of guilt at her kindness. Yes, she would be proud of him in the end, but that was years away. Right now, if she knew what he was planning, she'd be so hurt and so worried. He hated the thought of causing her pain. His conviction wavered in the warmth of his mother's presence. Maybe this was a mistake after all.

She sat on the edge of his bed, watching him eat, and gently pushed back a lock of his hair that had fallen forward. "So…how was it today?" she asked sympathetically. "You looked so unhappy when you came home."

Georges looked down. He didn't want to think about that awful moment of watching the deer die and knowing he was responsible. It would haunt him forever. "It was bad," was all he could say.

Belle nodded. "I'm so sorry you had to go through that. It's not right. Papa's at the tavern right now, but when he gets home, I'm going to tell him that he is absolutely NOT to take you hunting anymore. This has to stop!"

"No, don't," Georges said quietly. "Mama, please. I don't want any more fighting." He couldn't stand the thought of his parents getting into yet _another_ screaming match on account of him.

"But I _have _to, Georges!" Belle protested, her voice rising unconsciously. "I just can't stand by while you're so unhappy!"

Mimi, who was passing by the room, stuck her head in. "What's going on?" she wanted to know. "I heard Mama yelling. Why are you unhappy, Georges?"

Georges sighed. That was Mimi, always having to be involved in whatever was going on. "It's just because I had to go hunting today," he tried to explain.

"Yeah, I heard you got a deer today! Your first time ever!" Mimi grinned and punched Georges' shoulder. "Congratulations! Although it sure took you long enough!" she couldn't resist adding. Then she looked puzzled. "But that's GOOD news! So why are you unhappy?"

Belle tried to explain. "Mimi, I know _you_ love hunting, but Georges doesn't," she told her daughter patiently. "It makes him sad."

Mimi was confused. "Huh? But that's so silly!" It made no sense - why, it was like being sad that someone gave you a yummy cupcake!

"Mimi, don't call your brother silly," Belle admonished.

"But it IS silly!" Mimi argued. "I mean, hunting is the best thing EVER! Especially if you actually _get_ something!" She turned to her brother. "Georges, you shot a deer all by yourself. Be HAPPY about it! I know I would be!"

"Mimi, you can't _tell _someone to be happy! And Georges isn't like you," Belle said, trying to get her to understand.

"But he _should _be like me!" Mimi insisted. She looked at Georges again, wanting to help. "Georges, listen, you really shouldn't be sad when you hunt. It's so silly. Hunting is SO much fun! You get a trophy to put on the wall, and the boys are all jealous 'cause you got one and they didn't. It means you're the best! And then you get to eat it for dinner, and you feel so good knowing that everybody's eating what _you _brought home, just like Papa does. And Georges, you're REALLY lucky because you're a boy! So you don't get all those stupid people telling you that you shouldn't do it because you should be _sewing _instead!" Mimi made a face. "Honestly, Georges, how can you be sad? I mean, it's crazy!" She shook her head in disbelief.

"_Mimi!"_ Belle said sternly. "What did I just tell you? Stop calling your brother names!"

"But I'm just trying to help!" Mimi protested. She thought a moment, then had an idea. "I know! Maybe you just need to go hunting MORE! You know? Maybe if you go every single day, you'll start to see how fun it is!" She grinned. "It's heaps better than reading all those boring books, that's for sure!"

Belle groaned. Mimi was starting to sound just like her father! "That's enough, Mimi!" she snapped, more angrily than she intended.

"What? What did I do?" Mimi asked, wide-eyed. "I'm just saying what I think! Aren't we supposed to do that?"

Looking back and forth from his mother to his sister, Georges had a sudden moment of clarity. _Mama's right – this DOES have to stop. Not only are Mama and Papa fighting over me, but now I'm making Mama and Mimi fight too! _He was now even more convinced that his decision to run away was for the best, not only for him but for his whole family. _I'm really doing all of them a favor, _he thought. _All the problems in this family are because of me! Once I'm gone, everything will be peaceful again and everyone can be happy. _

Belle took a deep breath, calming herself down. "I'm sorry, Mimi. Of course you can express your opinion – _politely, _without calling names. But Georges and I were having a private conversation, just between the two of us. So why don't you go to your room and get ready for bed?"

Mimi made a face, hating to be excluded from anything, but she got up and went out the door.

Georges looked at his mother and suddenly felt protective of her. He could see that she was worried about him, and he wanted to reassure her. "Don't talk to Papa, please. Just leave it for now. Everything will be all right." He suddenly had a brainstorm. "Mama…would it be all right if I missed school tomorrow?"

Belle frowned. "Miss school? Why?"

"I just need some time to be alone and think about things."

"Oh, I see," Belle said. That was Georges' way when he was upset – he liked to go off on his own to a quiet spot by the lake, look out at the water, and work through whatever was bothering him, usually by writing a poem about his feelings. "Of course. I understand."

Mimi immediately popped her head back in, having been listening outside the door. "WHAT? You're letting him miss _school?"_ she said in outrage. "That's not fair! I want to miss school too!"

Belle shook her head. "Mimi, this is a special situation. Georges just needs some time alone to think."

"Well…so do I!" Mimi said, seizing on this excuse. "I need to think too! I have a LOT to think about!"

Belle and Georges couldn't help smiling at that. They exchanged an amused look. "Yes, Mimi, we all know how much you _love _to think," Belle teased fondly, going over to Mimi and tickling her. Mimi rolled on the floor in giggles. Belle tousled her hair, then got serious. "Look, Mimi, right now Georges needs this day. I'm sure at some point in the future something important will happen that will require _you_ to miss one day of school too. But this day isn't it."

"Aw," Mimi said in disappointment, although she really hadn't expected to be let off. She thought about what her mother had said. "Do you PROMISE if something important happens you'll let me skip a day?"

"If I _agree _that it's important, yes," Belle promised. "But I have to agree. And it can only be one day. All right?"

"I guess that's fair. But I wish it was tomorrow!" Mimi said.

Belle patted her behind. "Now off to bed. I'll be in in a minute to tuck you in."

"Oh, Mama! I'm too old for that!" Mimi said. "I'm 10 years old! I'm not a baby!" She paused, reconsidering. "But Lili still needs it. So definitely come in soon, okay?"

Belle smiled. Mimi still wanted her mother at bedtime even if she pretended she didn't. "I will."

As she started out the door, Georges said impulsively, "Listen, Mimi? I'm really glad you're my sister."

She turned back in surprise. "You are?"

"Yeah. And I love you. Always remember that, okay? And tell Lili that too."

Mimi shrugged. "Okay, sure. But you don't have to get all _mushy _about it." She went back to her room.

When Mimi was gone, Belle said, "Well, I'd better finish up the dinner dishes." She picked up his empty plate and started to leave, then turned back. "Oh, Georges, I almost forgot! Monsieur Liseur at the bookstore told me he's getting in a new shipment of books tomorrow morning. I'm going to stop by there in the afternoon and see what's come in. Do you want to meet me there?"

Normally, of course, Georges would have loved to spend the afternoon browsing with her through all the new books. But if things went as planned, he'd be far away by then. "Maybe. I don't know," he said evasively, not meeting her eyes. "Like I said, I really feel like I need some time alone tomorrow."

"I understand," Belle said. She smiled. "Tell you what: if I don't see you there, I'll bring you home a new book. Something special."

"Thanks." He looked up at her warm, sympathetic face and felt a lump in his throat, knowing it was the last time he would see her for a long, long time. "I love you, Mama."

Belle looked pleased, warmed by the unexpected endearment. "I love you too, Georges." She kissed his forehead. "Now, get ready for bed."

Georges watched her go. In his mind, it was settled. Leaving was clearly the only path of action he could take. _Mama and Alain and the girls will be upset at first, but I'll write a letter to explain. And once I'm settled in Paris, I'll write to them to tell them how I'm doing, _he told himself. _ Then after I go to university and I become a real poet and no one can take it away from me, I can come back to see everybody. Or maybe even sooner, if things calm down and they really do understand. _The thoughts were comforting. It wasn't like he was leaving FOREVER, after all. Just for a while.

He wondered how his father would react to his leaving. _Disappointed in me, _Georges decided, feeling a pang of sadness. _Not only am I NOT becoming a hunter, but he'll also think I'm a coward for running away from my problems. Plus I'm leaving to become a poet, which he hates…and making my family unhappy…and being disobedient… _His father was bound to consider Georges a failure on all counts. It hurt Georges to think of that, but what could he do? _At least Papa still has Alain and Mimi and Lili to be proud of, _he thought. _And he'll probably be happier without me anyway. He won't have to fight with Mama anymore, and he can take Mimi hunting all the time instead of me and be happy about how wonderful at it SHE is, instead of always having to feel embarrassed that he has a weak cowardly son he's ashamed of. _

Tears came to Georges' eyes, but he fought them back, furiously rubbing his fists in his eyes. Crying was unmanly, he told himself. Even if he liked poetry, that didn't mean he had to be _everything _his father despised.

He took a deep breath. He needed to focus. First things first: he had to pack for the journey, and he had to hurry to get it done before Alain came upstairs. If his brother found him packing, he'd want to know what was going on.

He took his pack out of the closet and tried to figure out what to bring. Warm clothes, certainly, since it was autumn and the weather was getting colder. Should he bring his heavy boots? He might need them if it snowed a lot in the winter…but they'd make the pack much heavier to carry. What about food? Or tools, like the hunting knife his father had given him – would that be useful? Or a water skin, in case he got thirsty?

He was wracked with indecision, weighing the pros and cons of every item, overcome by an irrational fear that he would forget something vital and end up desperately needing it.

Then, hearing a creak in the hall, he panicked and began to pack as fast as he could, throwing clothes and other items in frantically, making split-second decisions and not bothering to fold anything. When he finally finished, he breathed a sigh of relief. He listened closely, but heard no further sound. Good, he still had some time.

Then he turned to his bookcase. Of course he couldn't pack ALL his books, but having a few with him would be a comfort, like taking old friends along. It was so hard to choose, though! He thoughtfully picked out a few favorites and added them to the pack.

As he went through the bookshelves, his fingers touched a small, old book that was well-worn and battered. Georges pulled it out and smiled reminiscently. It was a treasured old book of fairy tales that Belle's mother had read to her when _she _was a child. Georges' earliest memories were of snuggling on his mother's lap while she read bedtime stories from this book aloud to him and his brother, before his sisters were even born. He could still conjure up that blissful feeling of contentment, being safe and warm in his mother's arms, listening to her soothing voice spinning tales of magic and adventure while he looked at the colorful illustrations, his imagination taking flight. Later, when he himself was learning to read, this was the book he'd returned to again and again to read to himself, until one day his mother gave the book to him to keep. ""I want you to have this book because I know it's special to you, just like it's always been special to me," she'd told him, smiling fondly at him. "Always remember, Georges: a good book is like a loyal friend you can always turn to. As long as you have a book with you, you're never alone."

Of course, as he'd grown older, he'd moved on to more challenging literature, and the old children's fairy tale book had been relegated to the bookshelf, a childhood keepsake that he hadn't read in many years. But seeing it now, he knew he had to take it with him. _When I'm homesick, I'll read it, and I'll hear Mama's voice in my mind, just like she's right there with me, _he thought.

When the pack was full, he tried to lift it, but it was too heavy. _Now what do I do? _he thought in frustration. Regretfully, he looked through it, removing the heavy boots, a lot of the clothes and some of the supplies, and one or two of the books, until it was manageable for him to carry. He hated to leave anything behind, but he knew he might have to do a lot of walking on his journey, and a heavy burden would slow him down and tire him out.

The final thing he had to do was write a note. He had to tell his family he was leaving so they wouldn't worry about him. He sat down at his desk, dipped a quill in the inkwell…and then just sat, the paper blank in front of him. How could he make them understand? There was so much to say, but he didn't know how to begin.

Finally, he just started writing from the heart. Once he started, it all came pouring out of him, all the feelings he'd been keeping inside for so long flowing through his quill and onto the page. He wrote faster and faster, as though he would never stop.

He was so absorbed in his task that he didn't hear Alain come in. He jumped when he heard his brother's voice over his shoulder. "Hey, Georges! What are you working on – a new poem? Can I read it?" He reached out as though to take the paper.

"NO!" Georges said too loudly, quickly shoving the note into the desk drawer. "I mean…it's not done yet. I don't want anyone to see it until it's finished."

Alain shrugged, sat down on his bed, and started unlacing his work boots. "All right. I was just curious." He took his boots off and said, "So how was it today? Papa was telling us all at dinner that you bagged a prize buck. He's thrilled to pieces, of course. But how are _you_ doing? Was it as bad as you thought it would be?"

Georges nodded. "It was even worse," he admitted. "The worst moment of my life. Watching that deer die right in front of me, seeing how scared it was…I'll never forget it."

"That's rough," Alain said sympathetically. "So what are you going to do now? Did you talk to Papa about it?"

Looking into his brother's compassionate brown eyes, Georges was torn. He wished so much that he could tell his brother what he was planning! It would be such a relief to share his burden with someone. And Alain could be a big help: after all, no one was more practical than he was. Alain would know exactly the right things to pack, how to get to Paris, what steps he should take once he was there. Georges could picture his brother immediately getting busy with a quill and paper, working out a step-by-step plan and making organized lists for the journey.

_But I CAN'T tell him,_ Georges thought forlornly, knowing his brother too well. _He'd try to talk me out of it…and he'd be so logical and so sensible, he probably WOULD talk me out of it. But I need to do this! And Alain is so honest – he would want to tell Mama and Papa. _Of course Georges could swear him to secrecy.. but that wouldn't be fair to Alain, expecting him to keep such an enormous secret from their parents. No, Georges would have to carry this burden alone.

"I did tell Papa, but he didn't really understand. And I don't know what I'll do next," Georges said, avoiding his brother's steadfast gaze. "Mama's letting me stay home from school tomorrow. I feel like I just need some time alone. I'm going to spend the day just thinking about things, figuring things out."

"That's a good idea," Alain said approvingly. "Whenever I have a problem, I always like to take time to think it all out and decide what to do. I make a list of all the possible solutions, and write down all the good and bad points of each one. It really helps clear things up for me. I never want to just jump into a reckless decision, you know?"

_Like running away? _Georges thought. Out loud, he said, "I know. Well, listen, I'm kind of tired, it's been a long day. I'm going to bed now."

"All right. Good night, Georges."

Soon the house was dark and still, the rest of the family asleep. Georges lay awake in the dark, making plans and listening to Alain's steady, slumbering breathing.

He waited until the first gray watery pre-dawn light came through the window – just enough to see what he was doing. As quietly as he could, he took the note out of the desk, signed his name at the bottom, and sealed it with wax. Then he opened his closet and took out the pack.

As he set it down with a thump to close the closet door, Alain stirred in his bed. Georges froze. Alain mumbled sleepily, "Time to get up?"

"No, it's early. Go back to sleep," Georges told him, his heart thudding.

"Mmmph," mumbled Alain, and drifted back to sleep, to Georges' relief.

Georges looked at the note in his hand. Where should he leave it? He didn't want his family to find it right away, because then they'd come after him and stop him before he could get out of town. But he _did _want them to find it before nightfall, so they wouldn't wonder where he was and worry about him.

He looked around the house, trying to think of places to put it, but no place seemed right. He was getting more and more anxious. Time was wasting, and he needed to LEAVE! He couldn't spend too much time on this one small thing!

Then he remembered what his mother had said about going to the bookstore. _That's it! I'll leave the note for her at the bookstore, and Monsieur Liseur will give it to her this afternoon when she goes there, _he decided.

As silently as he could, Georges crept down the stairs and out of the house, letting out a breath of relief as the door closed behind him. He headed to the family stable and saddled up his horse, Hercules. The horse's ears flicked forward questioningly and he playfully butted Georges' chest, wondering why they were going out so early.

"It's something I have to do," Georges told the horse. He felt guilty – if his plan worked, he wouldn't see Hercules again for a long time either, perhaps never. But it was the only way he could think of to get money for Paris. He stroked the horse's nose. "I'm sorry, boy."

With the pack on his back, he swung himself into the saddle and took one long, last look back at the house, the only home he'd ever known. _The next time I see this house, I'll be a famous writer and poet, _he told himself, and that thought fired him up with determination.

He started on his way, pausing just long enough to write on the outside of the note "Please give this to Belle when she comes to the bookstore" and stick it under the door of the shop. Then he turned the horse toward the main road and headed out of town, leaving the village behind.

He rode for several hours as the sun rose into the sky, the birds began to sing, and the world began to come to life around him. He passed farmers in wagons and milkmaids on foot, herds of cows and flocks of sheep.

By 11:00 a.m. he had reached the large town of Clermont-Ferrand, full of hustle and bustle. Georges asked around and soon found the stable where horses were bought and sold.

"Excuse me, monsieur," he said to the proprietor. "My father sent me here to sell this horse. He told me to get a good price for him."

The horse trader sized Georges up thoughtfully. "Your father, eh? Do I know him? You do look familiar…"

Georges cursed his resemblance to his father, whose prowess at winning contests at the annual fair was legendary, even though he no longer competed. Not to mention the big scene Gaston had caused that time when the mayor wouldn't let Mimi into the shooting contest, but she stormed onstage anyway. That had certainly made an impression- people had been gossipping about it for days.

Fortunately, Georges himself had always stayed shyly in the background, never competing himself. So although the horse trader scratched his head, trying to figure out where he'd seen Georges before, he wasn't able to place him.

"My father is a blacksmith in Rouen," Georges told him. "We come here pretty often to buy supplies."

"Ah, that must be it," the horse trader said, satisfied. He looked over the horse. It was a fine specimen, that was for certain; he'd definitely fetch a pretty penny. The horse trader pondered how much to offer the boy for the steed. Of course he wanted to make as much money as possible, and with a young inexperienced boy like this, he could easily get the horse for a pittance – the lad wouldn't know any better.

"Well, you seem like a good boy, and I know you want a good price for your father, so I'll be generous," the horse trader said, and confidently named a price that was only half what the horse was worth.

Georges frowned. One thing Gaston had made sure to pass on to his sons was his vast knowledge of horses, and Georges had often watched him haggle when buying or selling a horse. "That's an insult," he told the man. "He's from an exceptional bloodline! Look at fine form of his chest and back - you can see the power in him, and he races like the wind. Look at his carriage and his gait, check his teeth – you won't find a finer horse anywhere for love nor money!"

The horse trader was taken aback. This boy knew what he was talking about, which made it harder to pull a fast one on him. And he'd mentioned that his father was a blacksmith, which no doubt meant he was a huge powerful man with biceps like iron from swinging his mallet. Not the kind of man the horse trader wanted to come to town searching for the scoundrel who'd cheated his son.

"All right, all right," he grumbled, and offered Georges four-fifths of the horse's value. "I do have to make a profit when I sell him, you know!"

"I know. I'll take it," Georges said. He took the money and looked wistfully at Hercules. "I'm sorry, boy," he whispered, giving the horse a carrot he had in his pocket. "But you're a wonderful horse, and I know you'll get a good home." He knew Hercules was valuable, and whoever bought him would have to spend a fair amount of money, which meant the buyer was bound to treat the horse well, to protect his investment if nothing else.

Still, he felt sorrow as the man led the horse away. He hated having to do it, but he had no other way of getting money.

With an impressive sum in his pocket, Georges next went to the inn. "Excuse me," he asked. "Does the coach for Paris leave from here?"

"Yes, it does," the innkeeper told him. "Right out front. And you're in luck: a coach goes to Paris from here only twice a week, and today is the day. It's leaving in an hour. So tell your parents to be out front then," he added, assuming that Georges was traveling with his family and that his parents had simply sent him into the inn to inqure. "The coachman doesn't wait for anyone."

Georges spent a nerve-wracking hour trying to stay out of sight, not wanting anyone to see him and and ask him who he was and why he was waiting around. He wondered if his parents had discovered that he was gone yet. What if they were heading to Clermont-Ferrand at this very moment to find him and take him back? He was sweating with nervousness despite the cool autumn chill in the air. He wished the coach would come already!

Finally the hour passed and the coach pulled up. "One fare to Paris, please," Georges told the coachman.

The coachman pushed his cap back on his head and peered at Georges suspiciously. "Ain't you a mite young to be traveling to Paris all by yourself?" he asked. "Where are your folks?"

Georges thought quickly. "They're sending me to Paris to go to school," he explained. "My uncle lives there, and I'm going to stay with him while I get an education."

"I see," said the coachman, sizing him up. "And they didn't come to see you off?"

"Um…" stammered Georges, his mind racing frantically. "Well, they were going to, but my little sister is sick. My mother had to stay with her while my father fetched the doctor. They were upset that they couldn't come with me, but I told them it was all right, I could go myself. They felt bad about it, but the coach only leaves twice a week, and they didn't want me to have to miss it."

Satisfied with the explanation, the coachman grunted and told Georges the fare. He paid it, and the coachman moved to take his pack.

"No, I'd like to keep it with me, if that's all right," Georges said. It was all he had in the world now, and he didn't want to be parted from it.

The coachman shrugged. "Suit yourself."

Georges settled into the coach and watched the other passengers climb aboard. When they were all seated, and all the baggage was safely stowed away, the coachman cracked his whip and the horses started forward. The coach began to roll, slowly at first but then picking up speed till they were going at a steady pace.

As the town receded behind them, Georges was overcome with relief, and his anxiety melted away. He'd succeeded in the first part of his plan - getting away without anyone stopping him - and that gave him renewed confidence.

He looked out the window. The sun was shining cheerful golden light on the countryside, as though celebrating his journey. Georges felt a sudden, giddy rush of exhilaration. _I'm really DOING this! _he thought excitedly, marveling at his own daring. Just like all the heroes of the countless fairy tales and novels he had read, he was going forth to seek his fortune! Finally he was taking his destiny into his own hands, instead of sitting around worrying about what everyone else thought. It was an amazing feeling. He felt like he could do anything.

The road in front of the coach winded temptingly into the distant hills, promising a new life full of fascinating experiences and surprises around every turn. Georges was filled with eager anticipation. It was like opening a book to begin a brand new story – but this time, it was HIS story. And he was going to live it, not just read about it!

"Carpe diem!" he said aloud, and smiled, boldly ready for whatever adventure awaited him.


	29. Missing

"'Morning, kids," Gaston said at the breakfast table as they took their places. He glanced around. "Where's Georges?"

Alain shrugged and poured himself some milk. "I thought I heard him go out early this morning."

"He's not going to school today," Belle said, putting a platter of pancakes on the table and sitting down. "He said he needed some time alone to think about things."

"You're letting him miss school?" Gaston said in surprise.

"Yes. He was very upset after killing that deer yesterday."

Gaston sighed and shook his head disapprovingly. "Belle, I know you mean well, but really, you coddle him too much! The _last_ thing that boy needs is more brooding and moping around! He needs to just man up and get on with things." Gaston just could not understand this constant need to _think _about everything all the time! When HE had a problem, he took action and _did _something about it.

Belle put down her fork in exasperation. "Look, Gaston," she said, trying hard to keep her voice calm. Mindful of what Georges had said the night before, she didn't want to get into a fight in front of the children. "First of all, _you_ let him miss school yesterday to go hunting, so you have no right to complain about that! Secondly, he did what you wanted: he killed a deer just to make you happy. But it was very upsetting to him, and he needs some time to deal with that. So just leave him alone and give him the time he needs."

"Oh, all right, fine," Gaston said grudgingly. "But it was all for his own good. He'll _thank_ me one day, mark my words!"

Belle sighed. "I honestly hope you're right," she said, and meant it. Above all she just wanted Georges to be happy – that was more important than winning an argument.

Gaston drank his tea, glad she wasn't arguing. "Well…maybe it IS good for him to have this day to mull it over," he offered as an olive branch. "It'll give him a chance to put yesterday in perspective and realize that he accomplished something _great_, and he was silly to be upset."

Mimi looked up at that last comment, curious to see if her mother would scold her father for calling Georges "silly," but Belle just stood and cleared the empty dishes away without comment. "Come on, girls, time for school," was all she said. "Alain, have a good day at work." She kissed Gaston goodbye and herded the girls out the door to school.

But her day went downhill from there. At recess, Luc bullied little Denis, who was only 7, and pushed him in the mud, tearing his shirt. That meant Belle had to not only scold Luc and punish him by taking away his recess privileges for the next week, and clean up and comfort Denis, but then she had to explain and apologize to Amelie at the end of the day when she came to pick up Denis, and confront Mme. Grognon about her son's unacceptable insistence on bullying children half his size. Of course, Mme. Grognon refused to see anything wrong in Luc's behavior, insisting that "boys will be boys", although Belle knew she'd be the first to complain if anyone bullied HER precious child.

Amelie, meanwhile, assured Belle that she understood and that she knew Belle did her best. But Belle could see she was upset, and who could blame her? Denis was such a sweet boy, and it hurt Belle just as much as Amelie that he had been picked on. She felt guilty and responsible that it had taken her so long to realize what was happening and intervene.

Finally the parental discussions were over and Belle headed home to make dinner, feeling unhappy about how the day had gone. She could only hope that missing recess for the next week would make an impression on Luc, despite Mme. Grognon's undermining of her authority.

"Don't worry, Mama," Mimi told her reassuringly. "I'll stick by Denis at recess from now on. If Luc even comes NEAR him, I'll make him regret it!"

Lili, who had been feeling sad that someone was mean to her best friend, cheered up. "Thanks, Mimi! That would be great!"

Belle had to smile. "That's kind of you, Mimi. I _don't_ want you getting into fights or using your fists...but I admit, Luc probably _would _think twice about bothering Denis if he saw you standing nearby keeping an eye on him!"

Mimi puffed out her chest with pride. "That's what I'll do. I'll be the protector of all the little kids, like a white knight! No one will bother them ever again!"

Belle hugged Mimi. "I'm very proud of you for wanting to look after people who are weaker than you," she said. "Just like a real hero! Your father will be proud too." _Mimi __might __be __reckless __and __impulsive, __but __she's __no __bully, _Belle thought fondly. _And __she __has __a __good __heart_. _She's __going __to __turn __out __to __be __a __fine __young __woman, __no __matter __what __anyone __says._

Feeling a bit more cheerful, she entered the house. As she chopped vegetables for dinner, it occurred to her that with all the commotion about Luc, she hadn't even had a chance to go to the bookstore as she'd planned. _And __I __had __said __I'd __meet __Georges __there __if __he __came, __or __bring __him __home __a __book __if __he __didn't, _she remembered. _I __hope __he __won't __be __too __disappointed! __But __we __can __both __go __together __tomorrow __after __school._

Alain entered the house as she was cooking. "Mmm, that smells good, Ma!" he said.

Belle smiled. "It'll be ready in a minute. How was work?"

"Busy!" Alain said, removing his coat and hanging it in the closet. "We had four customers come in needing guns repaired, and they all want them by the end of the week! But Monsieur Armurier says he'll pay me extra if we have to stay late on Thursday to get them all done."

"Oh, good! I'm glad business is doing so well!" Belle said. "Now go wash up for dinner."

Gaston came in from hunting. Having forgotten the morning's quarrel, he picked Belle up playfully and kissed her affectionately. His hunting had gone well and he was in a jovial mood. Belle laughed and kissed him back, glad he'd had a good day. "Dinner is almost ready," she told him.

He opened the oven door and peeked inside. "Roast venison, great!" he said enthusiastically. "Is that from the deer Georges killed?"

"Oh...I don't know. I suppose so," Belle said, her smile fading as she remembered how upset Georges had been about the deer. "I just got it from the storehouse."

"It _must_ be his deer," Gaston said. "We were almost out of venison before that." He rubbed his hands together in anticipation of the meal – venison was his favorite. "When he sees what a delicious dinner his kill turned into, I bet he changes his tune about hunting!"

One thing you could say about Gaston, Belle thought – he was unfailingly optimistic that things would always go his way.

Still, while she doubted he was right, she too hoped that Georges would come home feeling better than he had the night before.

"Mimi! Lili!" she called. "Come down for dinner!" She turned to Gaston, who was pulling his chair out to sit down at the table. "You'll be proud of Mimi," she told him with a smile. "She's decided that from now on, she's going to be the official guardian of all the smaller children at school and protect them from bullies!"

Gaston grinned. As Mimi ran into the room and climbed into her chair next to him, with Lili trailing after her, he ruffled her hair. "So, wildcat...I hear you're going to be the school hero now, hmm?"

Mimi beamed. "That's right!" she said proudly. "No one will bother the little kids as long as I'M around!"

"That's my girl!" Gaston said approvingly. "Hero to the weak and defender of the innocent! Just like in your mama's stories."

Belle began setting the platters of food on the table. "I wonder where Georges is?" she said. "It's not like him to be late for dinner." She looked worriedly at the door. "I'd better go find him. Maybe he lost track of the time."

"I'll go with you," Gaston said, pushing back his chair. "You kids can start eating. We'll be back soon."

"It's all right – you stay and eat before the food gets cold," Belle said to Gaston. She wanted the chance to talk to Georges alone first to see if he was still upset or needed to talk. "I'm sure he's just at the lake, it won't take long to fetch him."

But Gaston shook his head and put on his coat. "The sun's going down. I don't like you being out in the dark by yourself," he said protectively.

"All right," Belle said. _I'll __talk __to __Georges __after __dinner, _she decided.

As they headed through the village toward the lake, Belle pulled her coat closer around herself. "It's starting to get chilly."

Gaston nodded and sped up his pace. "Let's get him and go home fast."

As they arrived at the lake, Belle called, "Georges?" But there was no answer. She hurried over to Georges' special spot: the little grassy hill under the shade of a tree, where he loved to sit looking over the water, thinking and daydreaming and writing poetry. But he wasn't there.

Gaston looked around impatiently. "Georges! Come on! It's time for dinner!"

Silence.

"Where can be be?" Belle wondered. They searched the area thoroughly, and the surrounding woods and fields, but there was no sign of him.

"He didn't say he was going to friend's house for dinner, did he?" Gaston suggested. "Maybe he told you and you forgot?"

Belle shook her head decisively. "No, I would have remembered that. He said he just needed some time today to think about things. Nothing about staying out late. And Georges is always so considerate – he wouldn't want me to worry." She was getting concerned.

"Well, in that case he probably came home while we were out looking," Gaston said. "Let's go back to the house – he's probably there wondering where _we _are!"

They hurried home and entered the house. The other three children were in the middle of eating. "Did Georges come home?" Belle asked them anxiously.

"No," Alain said, looking up at her from the table. "Didn't you find him?"

Belle bit her lip. "He must have stopped by a friend's house, or maybe the bookstore," she said, not wanting the other children to worry. "We'll find him. Come on, Gaston."

Outside, she turned to her husband. "Where can he be? Now I AM getting worried!"

Gaston frowned in concern, trying to think. "Georges is smart, he knows not to go deep in the woods without me... and he wouldn't have tried to go swimming, not when it's so chilly out..."

"Belle!" a voice called. They looked up to see the bookseller approaching.

"Monsieur Liseur!" Belle said hopefully. "Have you seen Georges?"

"Georges? No," Monsieur Liseur said. "I just came by to give you this. I found it under the door of the shop." He handed her the letter.

"Oh," Belle said, glancing at the sealed note. It was probably from the parent of one of her students – most likely an angry harangue from Mme. Grognon about Luc being punished. "Thank you, Monsieur Liseur."

"You're welcome," the bookseller replied. "Is everything all right? You look upset. You said something about Georges?"

Gaston spoke up. "He's late getting home for dinner, that's all. Probably lost track of the time. You know how boys are."

"Oh, I see. Well, if I see him, I'll tell him to hurry home," Monsieur Liseur said.

They thanked him, and he left. Belle absently opened the note, but her mind was on her missing son. She glanced at the note. Then her eyes widened in shock. "Oh, no!"

"What is it?" Gaston asked.

She looked up at him fearfully. "It's from Georges. He's run away from home!"

"_What?__"_ Gaston said, shocked. "Why?"

She scanned the letter quickly. "He's upset that you forced him to go hunting, and that you don't want him to write poetry," she said, a bit accusingly.

"Oh, for heaven's sake! _That's _why he didn't come home?" Gaston said, exasperated. Boys went hunting with their fathers every day...why was this such a big problem for Georges? But Gaston's annoyance at his son's overreaction was tempered by vast relief that the reason for his absence wasn't more serious. His son was safe – that was the most important thing.

As always, his first instinct was to take action. "All right, look. At least now we know WHY he's missing," he said decisively. "He wasn't in an accident, he's not hurt or injured or lost...he's just a 12-year-old boy who got mad at his father and thought, 'Well, I'll show him! I'll run away! THEN they'll all be sorry!'" Gaston had to smile at that thought. Now that he thought about it, it really was _such_ a typical thing for a kid to do...although out of all his children, he never would have dreamed that shy Georges would be the one to do it! "It's pretty normal."

"How can you be so calm?" Belle demanded. "Our son is out there, alone, in the dark-"

"I know. But think about it – where could he go?" Gaston pointed out. "This village is pretty small. There aren't that many places he could be! So, you go ask at all his friends' houses, and I'll look in all the barns and haylofts in the village – he might be hiding there without the owners knowing it. We'll meet back here in half an hour. We'll find him in no time, don't worry."

Belle was comforted by Gaston's certainty. He was right, of course. "All right. But Gaston, when we find him, don't yell at him!" she warned. "Maybe it was childish of him to run away, but he did it because he was upset and he feels that you don't listen to him. So you need to be more understanding."

"All right, fine," Gaston said dismissively, his mind already on places to search. "We can worry about that later. Right now, let's just find him and get him home safely."

Gaston's assurances made Belle feel better, but as she went from one friend's house to another, only to hear that they hadn't seen Georges all day, she began to worry again. She hoped Gaston had had better luck finding him.

But as she hurried toward their meeting spot, she saw that he was alone. "You didn't find him?" she asked him, her heart sinking.

He shook his head. "You neither?" He was starting to look just as worried as she was. "I checked every barn and hayloft and treehouse in the village. I searched all the fields and trees...I even went deeper into the woods, where he _know s_he's never ever to go without me. There's no sign of him." Frustrated, he slammed his fist against a tree and burst out, "When we DO find him, I'll skin him alive for scaring us like this!"

"But where _is _he?" Belle wailed. The thought of her son out there somewhere, all alone in the dark, terrified her. How desperate he must have felt, to believe his only choice was to run away...Full of anxiety, she turned on Gaston. "This is all _your _fault!"

"ME?" Gaston said in outrage.

"Yes, you!" Belle persisted. "You and your stupid obsession with hunting! I _told_ you that he didn't want to hunt, but you just _had_ to keep forcing him! And you told him he couldn't read or write poetry anymore – you DROVE him away!"

"I was trying to _help_ him!" Gaston snapped defensively. "Every man needs to know how to hunt; it's a basic life skill! _Every _father in this village teaches their boy to hunt, and none of them get upset about it – in fact, all the boys look forward to it. Except MY son! Why do you think that is?" he demanded, lashing out in return. "Maybe because he has a mother who made him read poetry and coddled him and made him be 'sensitive'!"

"I didn't _make_ him be anything!" Belle retorted, stung. "I just accepted him for who he is! Which is what YOU should have done! Then he wouldn't have felt that he had to run away!"

Gaston shook his head. "This isn't getting us anywhere," he snarled. "We're wasting time. Right now the most important thing is to FIND him. So, think! _You're_ supposed to be the one who's good at thinking!" he added cuttingly.

He took a deep breath and tried to lay it out logically. "Georges was mad and ran away from home. But this village isn't that big – he has to be _somewhere_. We know he didn't go to any of his friends' houses. He's not in a treehouse, or the fields, or the woods, or in anyone's barn. But it's cold out. He'd need to find _someplace_ warm to stay for the night, someplace that's safe..."

Suddenly he snapped his fingers. "Oh! I've got it! He must have gone to your father's!"

Belle felt almost weak with relief. "My father! Of _course! _Why didn't we think of that sooner?"

"I know!" Gaston said. "A kid is mad at his parents, the first place he's going to go is Grandpa's!" Equally overcome with relief, he laughed and shook his head. "Some great hunter and tracker I turned out to be! Talk about missing the obvious!"

Belle laughed too. "Well, as you said, _I'm_ supposed to be the great thinker! And it's MY father – I should have thought of that right from the start!" She pictured Georges sitting at her father's table, eating a snack while pouring out his troubles to his beloved Grandpa. Her father was no doubt listening sympathetically, offering unconditional love and wise advice. "Papa is probably telling him right now that running away doesn't solve anything, and that he needs to go home and talk to us."

Gaston nodded. "You're right, but I'm not waiting for your father to convince him! I'm getting him right now!"

Belle agreed, and they started for Maurice's house, which lay over a bridge on the far outskirts of the village.

Eager to reclaim their son, they walked hurriedly, but silently at first, both thinking over the evening's events. Belle glanced over at her husband. Now that they'd finally figured out where Georges was, she felt guilty about her outburst. "I'm sorry I yelled at you," she told Gaston apologetically. "I shouldn't have blamed you. I know you're just trying to be a good father to Georges. I was just frightened, and I took it out on you. I'm sorry."

Gaston waved away her apology dismissively. "It's all right. I've been thinking, maybe you're right. Maybe I _have_ been pushing him too hard. He _did_ just shoot a deer, which was a huge step forward for him – but before he had a chance to even get _used_ to the idea, I immediately wanted him to do it again! It was probably too much pressure on him. Once we find him, I'll back off about the hunting for a while."

Belle was relieved. "I'm glad. I think that will help." Of course she would rather he give up the idea of Georges hunting entirely, but at least it was a start.

Gaston nodded. He was thinking, _Georges __does __take __after __his __mother, __after __all, __and __Belle __NEVER __reacted __well __to __being __forced __to __do __anything. __I'll __back __off __for __a __month __or __two__ – __I'll __let h__im __know __how __proud __I __am __that h__e __overcame __his __fear __and __shot __that __buck, __but __without __expecting __him __to __shoot __another __one __right __away. __That __way __he __can __enjoy __the __triumph __without __any __pressure. __Once __he __gets __used __to __the __idea __that __he __really __did __it __and __it's __not __so __bad __after __all, __he'll __come __around __on __his __own, __wanting __to __get __all __that __praise __again. _Gaston himself LIVED for praise – he couldn't get enough of it – so it was easy for him to imagine that Georges would want more too. It would all work out; he just needed to be more patient.

They had arrived at the bridge, and as they crossed it, they quickened their pace until they were almost running by the time they got to Maurice's house. "Papa!" Belle called, knocking on the door.

As soon as Maurice opened it, she said eagerly, "Is Georges here?" She couldn't wait to enfold her son in her arms and hug him as though she'd never let go!

But to her dismay, Maurice frowned in confusion and shook his head. "Georges? No, he's not here. Isn't he at home?"

Belle's face fell. She stared at her father, fear gripping her heart. "He's...he's not here? Are you sure?"

Gaston said, "Maybe he's hiding." He went into the house, calling "Georges! Where are you? Stop hiding and come out!" He had been so certain Georges would be here, he couldn't quite believe he wasn't.

Maurice turned to follow Gaston into the house. "What's going on?"

Belle sank into a chair in despair. "Georges ran away from home. We've been searching everywhere...we were sure he'd be here..."

Gaston turned back to Belle, looking grim. This situation was now deadly serious. He sat down in an armchair and leaned forward. "Belle, read me that note," he said. "Maybe there's a clue in there that will help us figure out where he went."

Belle opened the note and began to read aloud:

"_Dear __Mama, __Papa, __Alain, __Mimi __and __Lili,_

_By the time you get this I will be gone. I am leaving home. Please don't worry about me, and don't try to find me. I know you will be upset, and I'm so sorry. I hope you can forgive me. But I just can't live at home anymore. _

_Mama, Papa, you've both always taught us follow our dreams. You've said nothing is impossible if you want it enough. Well, my dream is to be a poet. Papa, I know you think writing poetry is silly and weak, but it's what I love and I want to do it more than anything. I just can't live in a house where I'm not allowed to read and write poetry – I'll be unhappy forever. So I'm leaving home to follow my dream. I'm going to stay with someone who understands..."_

Before she could continue, Gaston interrupted. "Poetry! That's the clue!" he said excitedly. Determined to find Georges, he had listened to the letter with the mindset of a hunter – ignoring the emotional content for now, intent only on finding important clues to pick up the trail. Now he jumped up triumphantly. "That's it! He says he's going to stay with someone who understands poetry!" He looked at Belle. "Who in this village understands poetry? Besides you?"

They both thought a moment, then came to the same conclusion at once. "The bookseller!" they cried simultaneously.

"And _he's_ the one who brought us the note from Georges in the first place!" Gaston realized. "You think he'd have _said_ something to us instead of letting us worry!"

"Georges probably made him promise not to tell," Belle said, thinking aloud. "But he must have convinced Georges to write us a note...and then he brought it to us, assuming we'd figure out immediately that Georges was staying with him. That way he could let us know, without betraying Georges' trust by actually TELLING us."

Gaston nodded. It all fit together perfectly. "All right. Let's go."

Maurice looked at them anxiously. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Could you go to the house and stay with the other children for a little while?" Belle asked. "Tell them what happened – they're probably wondering why we've been gone so long."

Maurice nodded. "Of course!"

They rushed to the bookseller. Gaston pounded on the door. "It's Gaston Avenant! Open up!" As glad as he was to finally find his son, he was also annoyed with the bookseller for encouraging this silliness. He'd never really liked Monsieur Liseur, despite Belle's fondness for the man and his endless supply of books, ever since the bookseller had tried to play matchmaker with Belle and his nephew Hervé so many years ago.

"Gaston, don't be rude! He was only trying to help Georges!" Belle admonished.

The door opened. "Gaston! Belle!" Monsieur Liseur looked from one to the other. "What's wrong?"

"Where's my son?" Gaston demanded. He pushed past him into the house. "GEORGES!" he yelled. "Get out here _now!__" _

"What's going on? I don't understand," said Monsieur Liseur, looking in confusion at Belle.

Belle could see that he honestly didn't know. She had held it together through all the searching, but now, as her last hope dissolved, all the stress and fear hit her full force. It was too much. She began to cry. "Georges ran away!" she explained, sobbing. "He left a note saying he wants to be a poet and he's going to stay with someone who understands. We were SURE he meant you!"

Gaston came downstairs, having searched every room thoroughly. He was just as desperate and at his wits' end as Belle was - but in his case, fear came out as aggression. "Where is he, old man?" he demanded angrily. "Don't play games with me! _Where's __my __son?__"_

"Gaston, stop it!" Belle said. "He doesn't know! It's not his fault!"

"He had the note!" Gaston insisted. "He _has _to know!"

Monsieur Liseur looked surprised. "The note? Do you mean the note I gave you? It was just stuck under my door when I opened the shop this morning. I had no idea..." He looked at Belle anxiously. He cared about Georges like his own grandson. "How long has he been missing?"

"Since this morning, but we didn't realize it until he didn't come home for dinner," Belle said. "And then you gave us the note...we've been searching for hours...We don't know where else to look!"

Gaston looked suspiciously at Monsieur Liseur. The old man _did_ seem truly baffled, and worried as well. But still..."Georges' note said he's going to stay with someone who understands poetry," he pointed out. "Who else _could_ it be but you?"

At those words, Belle suddenly felt as though a lightning bolt had gone through her. _He said he's __leaving __home __to __be __a __poet...he's __going __to __stay __with __someone __who __understands..._"Oh, my God," she whispered.

Gaston looked over at her. Belle was staring straight ahead, her face white as a sheet. "What is it? Did you think of something?" he asked, immediately alert.

Belle sank into a chair, her legs feeling too weak to support her. "Yes. I know where he went." She looked up at Gaston. "He's gone to Paris!"

Gaston stared at her, flabbergasted. _"__Paris?__" _

Belle nodded. "He says he wants to be a poet...He's gone to see Hervé!"

"_What?__" _

"He sent Hervé his poems," Belle explained. "He wanted his opinion. Hervé said that Georges is very talented and has a rare gift for poetry. He said when Georges is older, he should go to university to study poetry."

Gaston's expression darkened. "Hervé! I should have known!" He paced the room furiously. "When we went to Paris, I _saw _him talking to Georges, filling his head with all kinds of ideas...That little weasel! _How __dare __he __try __to __steal __my __son?_" When he got his hands on that little pipsqueak...

"Stop it!" Belle shouted, her nerves frayed to the breaking point. "Hervé didn't tell Georges to run _away!_ He just told him he was good at poetry! It's not Hervé's fault." She took a deep breath. "We have to find Georges," she said desperately. "We have to find him before he gets too far!"

Gaston nodded. She was right. Hervé could wait; Georges was the immediate concern. Gaston immediately took command. "We have to get our horses and go after him," he said, his mind quickly formulating a plan. "While I'm saddling them up, you tell the other children what's happening and ask your father to stay with them." He started for the door.

Belle moved to follow, but paused to speak to Monsieur Liseur. "I'm sorry about all this," she said apologetically. She gestured at the door where Gaston had already left. "He's just frightened for Georges. He gets this way when he's scared...he didn't mean it."

Monsieur Liseur nodded, although privately he thought Gaston had always had too much of a temper and Belle should stop making excuses for him. But he didn't want to add to her worries. "Just keep him away from Hervé," he said. "And please,_ please_ let me know as soon as you find Georges. I'm worried about him too."

"I will," Belle said, and left to join Gaston, praying they would find Georges before it was too late.


	30. On My Own

Georges' excitement as the coach pulled away from Clermont-Ferrand had lasted for two whole hours. He had eagerly watched the scenery passing by – forests alive with fall colors, tiny villages similar to Molyneaux – feeling that something truly momentous had begun.

But after a while, as the coach traveled on and on and on, he began to get drowsy. He hadn't slept at all the night before, and once the initial exhilaration of getting away had passed, he found himself yawning. He folded his coat into a makeshift pillow, put it under his head, and closed his eyes. Soon, lulled by the rhythmic movement of the coach, he drifted off to sleep.

He dreamed he was at home, sitting on the couch between his parents while his mother read a story aloud. Mimi and Lili were sprawled on the big bearskin rug on the floor in front of the fireplace. Alain was sitting by the small table, repairing a rifle while listening to the story. Georges snuggled closer to Mama to look at the pictures in the book. Papa reached over and tousled Georges' hair fondly, and Georges smiled up at him. He felt so safe and warm...

The coach lurched to a stop, jolting him awake. He opened his eyes and blinked in confusion at the unfamiliar surroundings, feelings disoriented for a second. Then he remembered. As the dream faded, he felt a sudden sharp pang of loss, realizing he wouldn't be seeing his family for a long time.

They'd know he was missing by now. He wondered what they were doing. Mama was probably crying...Papa would be angry...His brother and sisters would be upset and worried...

Guilt overcame him.. How could he do this to them? Poor Mama... He hated the thought of making her unhappy. And he would miss them all so much. ..

_But I can't turn back now – not when I'm so close! _he thought.

He tried to comfort himself by imagining the end of his journey. He'd knock on Professor Liseur's door. It would swing open, and there would be the professor, delighted to see him. Georges would explain about his father, and Professor Liseur would be outraged on Georges' behalf. "To think that he actually forbid you to write poetry! Why, it's almost a _crime! _Talent such as yours must be nurtured!" Professor Liseur would say, putting a hand on Georges' shoulder. "You did the right thing, Georges. Leave everything to me."

Professor Liseur would enroll him in a school in Paris. And he'd insist that Georges live at _his_ house, treating him like his own son. After all, he himself had said that Georges reminded him of himself as a boy. He'd be thrilled to have him there!

Imagining it all made Georges feel a lot better. It wasn't like he was going to be all alone_ forever_, after all_._ He just had to get where he was going, and then he'd have someone to look after him while he followed his dream. And then he'd write to Mama and explain everything, and she'd forgive him. She'd be so proud of him when he went to university and became a real published author and poet at last. "I always knew you could do it, Georges!" she'd say. It would all be worth it then.

_And besides, this is an adventure! _he reminded himself. _Just like in books! _Picturing himself as the hero of his own story thrilled him and made him eager to find out what would happen next.

His enthusiasm renewed, he looked around. The other passengers were disembarking and getting their baggage. George gripped his pack and got off the coach. "Where are we?" he asked the coachman.

"Saint-Pourcain-sur-Sioule," the coachman replied. "We've stopped for the night at the inn."

An inn! Georges began to get excited. He had stayed at inns before, with his family on their trip to Paris. But now he was going to stay in one all by himself, like a real adult!

The coachman raised his voice. "Everyone, get a good night's sleep, because we're leaving tomorrow morning at 8:00 sharp. So I want all of you out here and ready to go at 7:30, to give me time to load the baggage on the coach. We have a long way to travel tomorrow. Understand?"

The passengers all nodded and began to file into the inn. Georges followed. The innkeeper began checking them in one by one.

While he waited for his turn, Georges looked around. It looked a lot like the tavern at home, only bigger. People sat at tables, eating food, drinking beer, or playing checkers. There was a bar on the side of the room closest to Georges, with a doorway behind it that seemed to open into a kitchen. At one end of the bar, the bartender was pouring drinks for the men sitting on barstools, while at the closer end, the innkeeper was writing the passengers' names and room numbers in a book and taking their payment.

The passenger ahead of Georges headed upstairs, and the innkeeper turned to Georges. "Traveling alone?" he said in mild surprise.

Georges nodded. "My parents are sending me to Paris to stay with my uncle. I'm going to go to school there."

"Did they give you any money? A room for the night costs five francs, you know."

Georges nodded. "Yes, they gave me enough money for the whole trip." He pulled out the money purse he kept under his shirt, hanging from a cord around his neck, and counted out five francs, then replaced the purse inside his shirt. He didn't notice a dark-haired, bearded man watching with sudden interest from a bar stool.

"Name?" the innkeeper asked.

"Georges Av-" Georges suddenly broke off, realizing he shouldn't give his real name in case anyone was trying to find him. He cleared his throat. "Georges Liseur," he said.

The innkeeper wrote it down and handed Georges a key. "Room 16, up the stairs."

Georges went upstairs and found himself in a small hallway with numbered doors. Finding room 16, he unlocked the door, went inside, and put down his pack.

The room was small and plain: just a bed, a dresser, a chair, and a washbasin. But to Georges, it meant so much more. It meant he had really _done_ it - his quest had truly begun! He was on his own, free and independent, staying at an inn on his way to Paris! He went to the window and looked out eagerly. It overlooked the street, but in the darkness there wasn't much to see, just a few people hurrying home.

Georges sat down on the bed. What should he do next? He was far too excited to sleep or read. His stomach rumbled, and suddenly he was ravenous. He hadn't eaten anything all day. He remembered seeing people eating in the inn's pub area, so he went out, locked the door, and headed down the stairs.

He headed to the bar and hesitantly asked the barman, "Excuse me, where can I get food?"

"Right here," the barman replied. "Tell me what you want and I'll tell the kitchen. We've got roast mutton, shepherd's pie, or baked potatoes."

"Shepherd's pie, please," Georges said. The bartender went into the kitchen to place the order. Soon a serving maid brought out his food and a mug of water.

Georges paid for the food and took it to a table. As he ate, he watched the people around him. Most of them looked tired and ordinary – not the colorful characters he had hoped to see on his travels. All these people looked like they could have come from Molyneaux. Still, it was early in his journey, he told himself. Surely he'd meet fascinating people on the way to Paris - the kind of memorable characters _all_ the heroes in novels met along the way.

_I should keep a journal of my trip, _Georges suddenly thought. _I could describe all my adventures, and the people I meet, and all my thoughts along the way. And then, when I get to Paris, I can write about the city, and the university, and everything that happens to me on my way to becoming a real writer! _

Inspired by the idea, he finished his food, brought his empty plate to the barman, and asked, "Is there a bookstore in this town?" He couldn't wait to buy a blank journal and get started writing!

The barman nodded. "There is, but it wouldn't be open now. It's almost seven o'clock."

"Oh," Georges said, disappointed. Well, he had some paper in his pack for writing poems – he could write some entries on that until he got a real journal.

But he didn't feel like going back to the room just yet. He went outside onto the inn's porch. Leaning on the railing, he breathed in the cold fresh air. Even though it was dark and there wasn't much to see, he was exhilarated just to know that he was in a strange new town where no one knew him, a place where anything could happen. He was no longer "the hunter's son" or "the schoolteacher's boy" - he could be anything he wanted to be. He was forging his own destiny. Nothing could stop him now!

He was smiling at that thought when he suddenly became aware that someone had stepped closer and was leaning on the railing next to him. It was a man with dark hair and a beard.

"Nice night, isn't it?" the man said in a friendly way.

Georges nodded. "Yes."

"So, did I hear right? You're traveling to Paris to go to school? That's a fine thing! Can't beat the value of a good education," the man said approvingly.

George smiled. "Yes. I'm going to study poetry and literature. I want to be a writer when I grow up."

"Is that so? Marvelous! What a clever boy you must be!" the man said, impressed.

"Aw, I'm not _that _clever," Georges said, embarrassed. But he was pleased by the compliment.

"Your parents must be so proud of you," the man added.

Georges' smile faded as he thought of his father.

"Oh! That must be why you were asking the bartender about the bookstore!" the man went on. "I love reading myself. Nothing like a good book, I always say."

Georges smiled. "That's how I feel too!" This man was so nice.

"Shame about the bookstore being closed – you'd have liked it," the man said. "It's a great store. Full of all kinds of books, anything you could want."

"I wish I could have seen it," Georges said wistfully. The bookstore sounded wonderful! And it would feel so comforting to browse through books again, like meeting familiar old friends.

Suddenly the man snapped his fingers. "You know what? The owner of the bookstore is a friend of mine. I'll bet I could get him to open it just for half an hour or so, so you could look around."

"Really?" Georges said excitedly. "Oh, but I wouldn't want him to go to any trouble."

"No trouble," the man said breezily. "He's always happy to open up for a customer – means more business for him, am I right?" He grinned. "But do you have money to buy a book? If he opens the store for you, he'll expect you to buy something."

"Oh, I have money," Georges said. "That's no problem. And I'll definitely buy something – I can't go into a bookstore _without _buying something!"

The man laughed. "All right then! Let's go to the bookstore!"

"Thanks! That's really nice of you," Georges said as they started walking.

"Glad to help," the man said.

He led Georges down a maze of streets, sometimes turning right, sometimes left. Georges was full of anticipation. He couldn't wait to see what the bookstore had to offer!

But after a while, he began to feel anxious. "I didn't realize it was so far away from the inn," he said worriedly. They'd been walking so long, and gone through so many twists and turns, he didn't think he could find his way back if the man left him alone.

"Don't worry. We're almost there," the man assured him.

Georges didn't want to be rude when the man had gone so far out of his way to take him to the bookstore. _Well, he did say we're almost there, _he told himself. _I'll just look around for a minute, buy a book, and then we'll go back._.

But it seemed to Georges they continued to walk for an awfully long time. The main part of the town, with all the shops and business, had been left far behind them. The longer they walked, the more run-down and dingy the buildings were. Georges saw some with broken or boarded-up windows, peeling paint, or holes in the roof. The streets were deserted – there wasn't a soul to be seen.

_This doesn't look like the kind of place that would have a big bookstore, _Georges thought in confusion.

He tugged on the man's sleeve. "Sir? I'm very sorry, I didn't know it would be so far. It's getting late, and the coach is leaving early in the morning. I want to go back to the inn, please."

"Nonsense! It's just down this alleyway." Before Georges could answer, the man pushed the boy ahead of him into a dark alley, following close behind.

There were no stores here. Georges felt a prickling of alarm. "What is this place?" Georges protested, turning back to the man.

Instead of answering, the man unexpectedly shoved Georges hard against a building. "Now where's that bag of money?" he demanded, his voice suddenly rough and menacing. He saw the cord around Georges neck and tried to grab inside his shirt.

"Hey! That's mine!" Georges yelled, trying to squirm away.

"Keep still!" the man snapped. He struck Georges hard across the face. The pain and shock stunned Georges for a moment. He felt blood trickling from his lip. The man grabbed the cord around Georges' neck with both hands and yanked, breaking the cord, then pulled out the money bag. Georges desperately grabbed for it, but the man shoved him back against the wall, his head banging against the hard bricks, and put the bag in his own shirt.

Georges screamed as loud as he could. "Help! Help!"

"Shut up!" the man hissed. He grabbed Georges and yanked him close to him, wrapping an arm around him and pressing his hand over Georges' mouth so he couldn't scream. Georges fought and struggled as hard as he could, but the man was too strong. Georges was wild with panic. How could this be happening? It was like a nightmare!

The man muttered, "Got the money...but now what do I do with you?" He looked down at Georges, who was making muffled sounds and wriggling like a caught fish, trying in vain to break free. "Can't let you go - you'll scream like a stuck pig. Could knock you out. But you'd wake up soon and tell. No good." He shook his head and made his decision. "Hate to rub out a kid...but there's no help for it. You've seen my face. Sorry, kid. I got no choice."

Terror flooded through Georges. _Oh, my God, he's going to kill me! _He struggled frantically against the man's grip.

"Quiet down now!" the man ordered. "I'll make it quick. It'll only hurt for a second."

Georges' mind raced. He had to do something! But he was so scared, he couldn't even think. And the man was so much bigger and stronger than he was. There was nothing he could do! He was going to die, right here and now!

_No! _he thought desperately, trying to fight down the panic. _Think, George, think! There has to be a way out!_

Suddenly a memory flashed in his mind. His father was teaching him to fight, telling him what to do against a bigger opponent who had him held tight.

With a silent prayer, Georges went limp, as though he'd fainted. The man relaxed his grip slightly and started to draw out the knife he kept hidden in his boot. His hand was still over Georges' mouth, but looser now.

Georges opened his mouth and bit down on the man's hand as hard as he could.

"Aaargh!" cried the man, letting go. Georges slipped away and ran down the alleyway as fast as he could. Cursing, the man ran after him.

_Please, God, let there be a way out!, _Georges prayed. If the alleyway led to a brick wall, he was dead.

But thankfully, it was open at the end. George ran out of the alleyway and into the street, the man in hot pursuit. Georges turned one corner and then another, hoping to lose the man, but it sounded like he was right behind Georges. Georges couldn't waste the precious seconds it would take to turn his head to look.

He was getting tired. He wouldn't be able to keep running forever. With a desperate effort, he put on a burst of speed and turned another corner. He saw a building with a door hanging off its hinges, the doorway dark. Without stopping to think, Georges ran into the building and immediately crouched down, crawling to the side to get away from the doorway and stay below the level of the window. As soon as he was away from the doorway, he lay completely still on the floor, not moving a muscle, trying to still his panting breath. He prayed that the man hadn't turned the corner yet when Georges had darted inside. If he'd been close enough to see Georges run in, then it was all over. He was trapped here and the man would know it.

He heard the man's running footsteps in the street. They paused as the man looked around. "Where is that stupid kid?" he growled in frustration.

Georges' heart was pounding so hard he was sure the man would hear it. His eyes were closed tight, as though if he couldn't see, he wouldn't be seen. _Please don't let him find me, please don't let him find me..._

After a few moments, the footsteps resumed as the man ran down the street, trying to catch up with Georges. Georges breathed a sigh of relief, but stayed where he was. He was too scared to move. The man could come back. He might see Georges if he left the building. Besides, Georges had no idea where he was. He wouldn't know where to go if he DID leave.

All he could do was stay here till morning. Then it would be light, and there would be people around, and he could ask someone how to get back to the inn.

That was, if the man didn't come back and kill him first.


	31. Searching For Answers

_Author's Note: As always, apologies for the delay in updating! The good news is, I'm on a roll now and expect to have the next chapter up within a few weeks (which for me is quick, LOL). The Georges subplot has two or three chapters left, so my goal is to wrap that up this summer and then move on to Suzette, Prince Christophe, Mimi, and all the other characters I've been neglecting!_

_I also want to give huge, heartfelt thanks to you readers who are still reading this story - I really appreciate it! I know how easy it is to lose interest when a story isn't updated for a long time, so thank you!_

_ o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o_

After figuring out that Georges was running away to Paris, Gaston and Belle rushed home. There was no time to waste. Gaston went to saddle up the horses while Belle ran to the house to tell the others.

Maurice and Alain, who had been watching from the window, came outside to meet her. "Did you find Georges?" Maurice asked anxiously.

Belle shook her head. "No. He's run away. We think he's trying to go to Paris to see Hervé."

"Paris!" Maurice gasped. Alain looked shocked.

"Gaston and I are going after him," Belle went on quickly. "Papa, can you stay with the children? With luck, we'll catch up to him tonight, but it's already late – we won't be home till tomorrow, maybe even the next day. Go to school tomorrow and tell the parents school is canceled. Say that it's a family emergency and I'll explain when I get back."

"Of course! Whatever you need!" Maurice assured her.

Alain said worriedly, "But what if you _don't_ catch up to him?"

"We will," Belle reassured him, with a confidence she didn't feel. "Don't worry – we know where he's heading, and we'll find him. Could you go fill some saddlebags with food from the pantry for us?"

Alain nodded, glad to be doing something to help. "Sure." He went into the house.

As soon as he was gone, Belle's calm facade crumbled. "Oh, Papa, I'm so frightened! He's just a little boy! He doesn't know where he's going, or how to take care of himself...What if we _can't_ find him?" She began to panic as terrifying scenarios flooded her imagination. "What if he's lost in the woods? What if he's hurt? He's all alone..."

"That's why we're going to track him down," Gaston said firmly, coming up behind her. "The horses are saddled up. Are you ready to go?"

Belle nodded. She took a deep breath, steadying herself. "Alain is filling some saddlebags for us. Let me just tell Mimi and Lili."

They entered the house. Alain came up to them with two bulging saddlebags. "I put in a lot of food, and all the money from the savings jar, and all the supplies we always bring on hunting trips, Pop," he said.

"Good boy," Gaston said approvingly, tousling his hair.

"And I want to come with you," Alain went on. "He's my brother. I want to help."

Taken aback, Gaston looked at his oldest son. Alain stood tall and strong and capable, ready to handle any emergency. _He's almost a man, _Gaston realized with surprise and a touch of pride. But having another person along would likely slow them down...

While he was considering, Mimi and Lili came running up to them. "What's going on?" Mimi demanded.

Belle tried to sound matter-of-fact, as though the situation wasn't anything to worry about. "Papa and I just have to go away for a few days. Georges ran away, and we're going to find him and bring him home."

Lili's eyes filled with tears. "No, Mama! No! Don't go away!" she begged.

"Oh, honey, I have to," Belle said, hugging her, almost in tears herself. "But we'll be back soon."

"Wow!" Mimi marvelled in admiration. "Georges really ran away?" _I bet he's having all kinds of adventures!_ she thought enviously. _"_That was so brave of him!"

"No, it wasn't!" Belle said, more sharply than she intended. It was frightening enough that Georges had run away and was missing – she couldn't bear the thought of Mimi following his lead! "It was very foolish of him! Please, Mimi, don't ever even THINK of doing anything like that! It's dangerous out there in the dark for a child – there are wild animals, and bad people-."

Lili wailed harder at that, sobbing and clinging to her mother. "Is Georges gonna get killed by a wild animal?" she cried.

"No, no, honey!" Belle tried to soothe her. "Papa and I are going to find him and bring him back! That's why we have to leave now."

Seeing all the chaos, Gaston turned to Alain. "Son, I really DO need your help. But not by coming with us. I need you to stay here and look after your sisters. Take care of them, calm them down, keep them safe. And I'll also need you to do my chores, and take care of the animals while we're away. Grandpa is old - he can't handle all this by himself." He looked into Alain's eyes. "You'll have to be the man of the house while I'm gone. Can you do all that for me, son? I know it's a lot to ask."

Alain stood a little straighter, proud of his father's faith in him. "Sure, Pop."

Gaston smiled. "I know I can count on you."

He headed over to his wife, who was still unsuccessfully trying to comfort Lili. "Belle, we really need to _leave. _We're wasting too much time."

But Lili wouldn't let go of Belle. "Mama, please don't go! I'm scared!" she whimpered.

In contrast, Mimi was practically jumping up and down. "Papa, I wanna come with you!" she said eagerly. "This is the most exciting thing that's happened here _ever!"_

"NO ONE'S COMING!" Gaston shouted, at the end of his rope. Mimi and Lili stared at him, stunned into silence. Gaston sighed. "Look, I'm sorry, but Mama and I really need to go NOW! We have to get Georges! Just be good girls and listen to Grandpa and Alain while we're gone, all right?" He kissed the top of their heads, took the saddlebags and headed for the door.

Belle hugged the girls. "We love you and we'll be back soon. Everything will be all right," she reassured them, praying that that was true.

Alain said quickly, "Mimi, Lili! Let's go watch and wave goodbye from the window. We'll see who can wave the longest! Then we'll all get ready for bed and I'll read you a bedtime story."

Belle gave Alain a grateful smile and headed out to join her husband.

By this time, it was getting late. The night was dark, with only the moon for light – definitely not the ideal time for travel. But neither of them suggested waiting till morning. They were desperate to find their son. Gaston lit a torch and carried it while riding, guiding his horse with one hand while Belle rode beside him.

"If he's going to Paris, he'd probably have stopped in Clermont-Ferrand," Gaston said, thinking aloud. "It's a few hours away, so the horse would have needed to rest and have water by then. And it's a big town, so he may have tried to buy food or supplies there. So let's start there."

They traveled as quickly as they could manage in the darkness, Gaston using the torch to light their way. By the time they arrived at the large town, it was the middle of the night. The town appeared silent and deserted, everyone asleep in their homes.

The innkeeper, Monsieur Tenancier, was irritable at being awakened. "What is it? Do you need a room?"

"We're looking for our son," Belle explained. "He's twelve years old, with brown hair and brown eyes. Have you seen him? Maybe he's staying here?"

"You woke me up at this hour for that?" Mssr. Tenancier snapped. "No, there's no boy here. Good night." He slammed the door.

Belle and Gaston looked at each other. "Where else could he have gone?" Gaston wondered.

"Let's ask at the stable," Belle suggested. "If he brought Hercules there for food and water and rest, the stable owner would know."

"Good idea," Gaston said. "And our own horses need rest anyway. We can stable them and start out again at first light."

They headed for the stable. The horse trader was equally annoyed at being awakened, but was mollified to hear that Gaston and Belle wanted to stable their horses for the night.

As they entered the stable, they heard a familiar whinny. Gaston looked up, and his eyes widened in surprise at the sight of the horse. "That's Hercules!" He went over to Georges' horse, who was reaching his nose out from a stall.

Belle was overcome with relief. "That means Georges is around here somewhere!"

The horse trader finished getting Gaston and Belle's horses settled in stalls. Noticing Gaston's interest in Hercules, he came over and said, "Gorgeous animal, isn't he? If you're interested, I can give you a good deal on him."

Gaston stared at him in confusion. "That's my son's horse! Isn't he being boarded here?"

"Boarded? No," the horse trader said suspiciously. "A boy came in here today and SOLDme this horse. I paid good money for him, too"

"Georges sold you his horse?" Belle said, her heart sinking.

The horse trader folded his arms. "I don't know the boy's name, but yes, he sold the horse to me."

"Well, he had no right to!" Gaston said sternly.

"Be that as it may, I paid a good price for him!" the horse trader said firmly. "I'm not letting him go without being repaid!"

"All right, all right!" Gaston said in exasperation. He gave the man some money. "Here's a down payment. Don't sell that horse to anyone else! I'll give you the rest of the money when we find our son. Did he say anything to you about where he was going?"

The horse trader shook his head. "He just said his father told him to sell the horse. That was it."

Gaston turned back to Belle. "If Georges wanted to run away to Paris, why on earth would he sell his horse?"

Suddenly Belle said, "Oh! He must be taking the _coach_ to Paris! He sold Hercules to get the money for the fare!" She turned to the horse trader. "Was there a coach to Paris today?"

The man shrugged. "Beats me. But the coach leaves from the inn. The innkeeper would know."

Belle hated to bother the cantankerous innkeeper again, but there was no choice. They knocked on the inn door, and soon he appeared. "You again!" he said angrily. "What do you want now?"

"Look, we'll pay you for your time!" Gaston said impatiently. "We have to find our son. He's missing."

"I already told you, he's not here!" insisted Mssr. Tenancier.

"We know," Belle said. "But we were wondering if a coach to Paris left here today."

"Oh. Yes, the coach left here this morning," Mssr. Tenancier replied.

Belle gave him a few coins, which he greedily pocketed, and asked hopefully, "Do you remember if a boy got on the coach? Twelve years old, brown hair, traveling alone? Please, please try to think – it's important!"

Mssr. Tenancier considered. "Hmm...Come to think of it, I do seem to remember a boy about that age asking me what time the coach was leaving. I assumed he was with his parents, but I didn't see them."

"That had to be Georges!" Gaston said triumphantly. He gave the man a few more coins. "Do you know what route the coach takes? What town was it heading to first?"

"Let's see..." Mssr. Tenancier mused. "First it goes to Saint-Pourcain-sur-Sioule."

"We can go there right now and catch up to him!" Belle said excitedly to Gaston.

Mssr. Tenancier shook his head. "By horseback? You'll never make it. It'll take at least five or six hours to get there from here, and the coach leaves early in the morning. It will be gone by the time you get there."

"And our horses are tired...they'll need at least a few hours rest before we can even leave," Gaston added to Belle.

"But we _have _to catch up to him!" Belle urged. She looked at the innkeeper. "Where does the coach go _after _Saint-Pourcain-sur-Sioule? Where will it stop tomorrow night?"

Mssr. Tenancier thought about it. "Montlucon," he said. "From here, that's about twelve hours' ride."

"So...if we let the horses rest for a few hours, we could leave in the morning, and get to Montlucon tomorrow night," Belle said slowly, figuring it out. "If the coach is stopping there for the night, Georges should be at the inn there when we arrive."

"Good thinking!" Gaston said approvingly, glad to have a firm plan. "We should get some rest too." To the innkeeper, he added, "We'll be leaving in the morning, but can we get a room for a few hours?"

"Certainly," Mssr. Tenancier said, all hospitality now that he was making some money from them. He told them the price and showed them to a room.

They went inside and shut the door. Gaston sat down on the bed. "You should lie down," he said to Belle. "Try to get a few hours' sleep."

"I can't!" Belle said. "My heart is racing. Just thinking of my poor baby, out there all alone..."

"At least he took the coach. That's a good thing," Gaston pointed out. "He's _not _all alone; he's traveling in a coach with a lot of people, being driven by a driver who knows what he's doing. And we know they're staying in Saint-Pourcain-sur-Sioule overnight. So right now, he's safe and snug in bed at the inn there, and tomorrow night, we'll catch up to him at Montlucon. Don't worry."

"I suppose you're right," Belle said. But she couldn't shake off the feeling that Georges was in trouble, that her child was lost and frightened and needed her and there was nothing she could do about it.

Gaston kissed her head reassuringly. "We'll find him. But right now we have to rest. We'll need our strength for tomorrow," he said practically. They lay down on the bed, both silently thinking about their son. Neither thought they'd be able to sleep a wink, but eventually the stress and fear and exhaustion of the evening took its toll, and they slept.

o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o

They were up a few hours later and ate a fast breakfast at the inn, at Gaston's insistence. "We need to keep our strength up," he said, spooning oatmeal into his mouth. "We have a long way to travel today." He was feeling much better now that they knew where George had gone and they had a plan. Tonight they'd get to Montlucon, reunite with their son, and bring him home.

Belle nodded. "But Gaston - when we find George, you _have _to try to listen and understand him better," she warned.

"Well, frankly, I _don't_ understand him," Gaston said bluntly. "I mean, I can see he was angry that I told him not to write poetry. But to run all the way to PARIS? That's kind of overreacting, don't you think?"

"Running away was a mistake, definitely," Belle agreed. "But I think he was desperate and just didn't know what else to do. Look...why don't I read you his note? Maybe it will help you understand."

"All right, go ahead. Read it," Gaston said. "I'll listen." Listening wasn't his strong point, but he just could not fathom why his son would run away from a loving family! If the note was the key to making sense of it all, he'd listen.

Belle began to read:

"_Dear Mama, Papa, Alain, Mimi and Lili,_

_By the time you get this, I will be gone. I am leaving home. Please don't worry about me, and don't try to find me. I know you will be upset, and I'm so sorry. I hope you can forgive me. But I can't live at home anymore. _

_Mama, Papa, you've both always taught us follow our dreams. You've said nothing is impossible if you want it enough. Well, my dream is to be a poet. Papa, I know you think poetry is silly and weak, but it's what I love and what I want to do more than anything. I just can't live in a house where I'm not allowed to read and write poetry – I'll be unhappy forever. So I'm leaving home to follow my dream. I'm going to stay with someone who understands."_

"Yeah, _Herv__é__."_ Gaston muttered in disgust. The fact that his own son would say that Hervé – of all people! – understood him better than Gaston was like a knife in his gut.

"_And Papa, I won't hunt anymore. Ever," _Belle read on. Her voice cracked a bit on those words, and she cleared her throat. She glanced at Gaston nervously, not sure how he'd take this part. _"__I tried to do it to make you happy, but killing that deer was the most horrible moment of my life. I don't ever want to do it again. You say if I keep doing it I'll get used to it – but Papa, I don't WANT to get used to it! I don't want to be a hunter! I hate it! I tried to tell you, but you __wouldn't listen.__"_

The words hit Gaston like a blow. He'd always convinced himself that Georges just needed a little more practice to get over his problem, and then he'd become the hunter he was meant to be.

But he couldn't dismiss or wave away Georges' objections this time. The boy flat-out refused to hunt again, and he'd backed up his words by running away from home to make SURE his father couldn't force him. Even Gaston couldn't ignore that. Georges would never share those special father-son hunting trips with him again.

But it was more than that. It meant that his son hated everything Gaston stood for. He didn't look up to Gaston, didn't admire him, didn't want to follow in his footsteps and be just like him. In fact, he'd run all the way to Paris just to get _away_ from him! That hurt Gaston more than he could say.

Seeing his expression, Belle paused. "Are you all right?" she asked gently.

"Just keep reading," Gaston said grimly. "Let's hear the rest."

Belle continued. _"Papa, I'm sorry I can't be the son you want. I know I'm a big disappointment to you. I know you're ashamed of me. But at least you still have Alain, Mimi and Lili to be proud of."_

Gaston stared at Belle. "I never said I was _ashamed _of him! I NEVER said that!" he said defensively. He banged his fist on the table in frustration. "I was just trying to HELP him! I was trying to be a good father, teaching him everything my father taught me! Why can't he _see_ that?"

"I know you didn't say it, but that's how he _felt._ Can't you understand that?" Belle said. "Just imagine how awful _you'd_ have felt as a child if you thought your father was ashamed of you."

Gaston thought about that. "He was, once," he admitted, almost inaudibly..

"What?" Belle asked in confusion.

Gaston looked away, not liking to relive this memory. "He always liked to brag about me, how I was the best at everything and won every fight. But once - just once - I lost a fight. It wasn't my fault!" he added defensively. "The kid was older and bigger than me! Anyway, when my father found out, he was furious. Said I'd shamed the family name." Unconsciously Gaston winced, remembering the accusatory look in his father's eyes, as if he had done something unforgivable...that shameful feeling of being unworthy, knowing he had let his father down. He'd have done_ anything_ to make sure his father never looked at him that way again.

"That's horrible!" Belle said, appalled.

Gaston shrugged, trying to shake off the memory and downplay the incident. "It's all right. The next day I went out and fought that kid again, and won. So my father was proud of me again. And after that, I made damn sure I _always _won, no matter what."

Belle wasn't sure that winning at all costs was the best ending to that story, but this was about George. "So you _can _understand how Georges felt."

"Yes," Gaston conceded reluctantly. "I never meant to make him feel like that. But Belle, when it happened to me, I did everything I could to win back my father's approval. I did exactly what he wanted. George didn't do that – in fact, he ran away so he wouldn't have to!"

"But Georges DID do what you wanted!" Belle insisted. "He killed that deer for you! Can't you see how _hard_ that was for him?" She waved the letter at him. "It was horrible for him! He did it just to make you happy, so you'd be proud of him. But that wasn't enough for you. You wanted him to _keep_ doing it, and he just couldn't live that way!"

She sighed, then reached out and touched his hand. "Look, Gaston. I know Georges didn't turn out to be the kind of son you expected. But he IS still your son. Isn't that what's important? If you can't accept him as he is, he'll just run away again. We'll lose him forever! Is that what you want?"

Gaston didn't know what to think_. _He only knew one way to be a good father: to be a role model and teach his children everything he knew. But it seemed that was the wrong thing to do with Georges – all it did was drive him away. Georges didn't want anything to do with what Gaston had to offer. He only wanted what Hervé had to teach. So what was he supposed to do? He was at a loss.

Abruptly he pushed back his chair. There was one thing he _could_ do: find his son. "Come on. We have a long way to go. Let's get started."

Belle nodded and stood up. They picked up the horses from the stable and began their journey, riding in silence.

o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o

Georges had spent the night crouched in the darkness of the abandoned warehouse, shivering from terror and the cold howling wind blowing through the broken windows, startling at every tiny sound. But as the hours passed, he eventually dozed off.

He awoke with bright sunlight on his face. He blinked and gingerly stretched his muscles, sore and stiff from the cold. He peered out the window. There were people on the street now – dressed in rags and tatters, since it was a poor area, but at least the place wasn't deserted anymore. Georges didn't see the thief anywhere. Hopefully he was far away.

Cautiously he crept out of the warehouse. The sun was bright overhead. _Sunlight...how late is it? _Georges thought in sudden panic. _The coachman said we'd be leaving at 8:00!_

A ragged beggar was leaning against a building, chewing tobacco and spitting occasionally. Georges hesitantly approached him. "Excuse me, sir. Do you know how to get to the inn?"

"The inn? That's all the way on the other side of town," the beggar said. He gestured vaguely to his left. "I don't know exactly how you'd get there, but that part of town is that way."

"Thank you," Georges said politely. He started off in the direction the man had indicated.

He had to stop and ask for directions many times, and sometimes double back when he'd made a wrong turn. It seemed to take forever to get back to the busy part of town. Georges tried not to think about what he would do if the coach had left.

Finally, to his vast relief, the buildings began to look more prosperous, the stores more numerous, and the people on the street better dressed. Now when he asked people the way to the inn, they nodded knowingly and answered him confidently.

He turned a corner, and at last, there was the inn! Georges hurried inside and ran to the counter. "Did the coach leave yet?" he asked breathlessly.

"Of course it left. It's noon already!" the innkeeper said. "Where were you?"

Georges' heart sank. He turned away, trying not to cry. _That's it, then. I'll never get to Paris now,_ he thought in despair_. The coach is gone, my money is gone...What am I going to DO? I'm stuck here in this strange town, alone, no money..._His journey had barely begun, but already he had failed.

The innkeeper, Mssr. Marriott, came out from behind the counter and asked curiously, "What happened to you? Why weren't you here?"

"I was robbed," Georges explained, and told the innkeeper the story.

Mssr. Marriott clucked sympathetically. "Robbing a child! What's the world coming to? Come on, I'll take you to the constable. Maybe they can catch the thief." He led Georges to the constable, where he described the man and what had happened.

Back at the inn, Mssr. Marriott said kindly, "You've been through a lot. Let me get you something to eat." He waved over a serving girl and told her to bring out a plate of food from the kitchen.

"Thank you, sir," Georges said. He looked at the plate, but although he was famished, he felt too upset to eat.

Mssr. Marriott went on, "I'll send word to your parents so they can come get you. Where do they live?"

Georges looked up in panic. "No! Please, sir, don't tell my parents!" He couldn't bear the thought of going home in failure and humiliation, his big dream in tatters.

The innkeeper was bewildered. "But what else can we do? The coach is gone, and you said yourself that the robber took all your money. And your parents will be worried about you."

Georges thought quickly. "That's just it – I don't want them to worry. They spent their whole life savings to get me to Paris, and they trusted me to be responsible with the money. They'll be upset if I don't get there."

"Well, this is an emergency. I'm sure they won't blame you for what happened," the innkeeper said reassuringly.

A customer entered the inn and went to the counter, waiting impatiently for service. The innkeeper said to Georges, "You eat now. Afterward, we'll get in touch with your parents," and went back to the counter to help the customer.

Georges picked miserably at the food. _Maybe he's right. What else can I do? _But the thought of returning home in disgrace made him cringe. He knew he had upset his family by running away, and he felt guilty about that, but he had kept telling himself that once he was a famous writer, they would understand that it had all been worth it, and they would forgive him. But to go home NOW, a failure, with nothing at all to show for what he'd put them through?

He imagined the scene. His mother would be happy to see him, but his father would surely be angry – not only had he run away from home, but he'd also sold his valuable horse without permission, and then lost all the money! _I bet he'll say this is what happens when boys read poetry – it puts stupid ideas in their heads and makes them run away,_ Georges thought glumly. _He'll probably BURN all my poetry books after this. _Things at home would be worse than ever.

_All my big dreams of going to Paris and being a writer...what a joke, _he thought bitterly. _I was stupid to think I could pull it off._ _I'm a total failure! Nothing to do now but give up._

Unexpectedly, he heard his father's voice in his head: _"NEVER give up!" _

How often he had heard his father say that all through his childhood! It was one of Gaston's strongest beliefs, and he had repeated it so many times and so many different ways over the years, impressing the point upon his children. "_If life knocks you down, you get right back up and fight back twice as hard." "If you want something, go out and get it. Don't let anything stand in your way." "The difference between winners and losers is that winners never give up." _

Even his mother, who was so different from his father, had made the same point in her own way: _"Follow your dreams." "Everyone makes mistakes; those who succeed learn from their mistakes and try again." "You can do anything you put your mind to." "Believe in yourself." _

He thought of all his mother's fairy tales, and all the heroes in all the books he had read. _They didn't just win easily without any problems,_ he realized. Those heroes always faced setbacks and dangers, even dark times when it looked like all hope was lost. But then they used their minds to think of a clever way out, or they fought harder against the dragons and the monsters, and ultimately they prevailed. The one thing the heroes all had in common was that they never gave up, no matter how tough things got.

Suddenly something occurred to him. _Last night_ w_hen that thief wanted to kill me, I didn't give up! He was bigger and stronger than me, and he had a knife and tried to kill me...but I used my wits and I got away! _When Georges thought of it that way, he felt a whole lot better.

Then he remembered something else his father had told him: "Son, there comes a time in every man's life when he has to show what he's made of." It was suddenly crystal clear to Georges that THIS was that time in his life, the defining moment when he had to "show what he was made of." Was he man enough to answer the challenge?

_Yes, _he thought firmly, his determination renewed_. I DO have what it takes to win. I just have to believe in myself and never give up! I'm like a knight on a quest. I have to overcome all the obstacles to prove that I'm worthy. And I'm going to do just that!_

He smiled to himself and vowed, _One way or another, I AM going to get to Paris! _

Then he stopped abruptly, remembering that the coach was gone, he was on his own, and he had no money. _The only question is...how?_


	32. On the Road Again

_Author's Note: Ugh, I'm wracking my brain, but I just CAN'T think of a good title for this chapter! Feel free to make suggestions - I'll give credit in an AN!_

Georges was still trying to come up with a plan when Monsieur Marriott returned. "Now then. I'm going to send word to your parents. I know you're afraid they'll be upset, but I really think it's for the best."

"Please, sir, can't we wait a little?" Georges asked desperately. "They'll be so disappointed if they have to bring me home! Maybe I can get the_ next _coach to Paris?" he added hopefully.

"Well...the next coach leaves on Saturday," the innkeeper said. "But the coachman isn't going to take your word for it that you already paid the earlier coach! Even if I vouch for you, he'll say it doesn't do him any good if the OTHER coachman pocketed the money. He'll want the fare for himself."

"That's true," Georges said in disappointment. He tried hard to think. "Could we at least wait till Saturday? Maybe I can find a way to come up with the money for the fare."

Monsieur Marriott looked at him skeptically. "How?"

"I don't know," Georges admitted. "But maybe I can think of something by then. I could try to sell the stuff I brought with me...or maybe find some kind of job..."

Monsieur Marriott had to laugh at that. "Any job a boy your age could find isn't going to pay enough in a few days to get you to Paris!" Seeing Georges' crestfallen expression, he softened. "You're certainly a determined lad, I'll give you that. All right. We'll give it till Saturday. But if you don't have the money by then, I'll have no choice but to notify your parents."

"Thank you, sir," Georges said gratefully. "And...can I stay here at the inn until then? I know I don't have any money, but I could wash glasses for you, or sweep and mop – whatever you need!"

The innkeeper smiled. "You're a good lad. All right. That's what we'll do. But only till Saturday," he warned.

"Thank you, sir!" Georges said, beaming. "I really appreciate it! Is there anything I can do for you right now?"

"No, not at the moment," Monsieur Marriott said. "You go up to your room and rest. I'll call you if I need you."

Georges thanked him again and headed upstairs to his room. He breathed a sigh of relief as he sat down on the bed. After his harrowing night, it was a relief to be back safe in his room.

_If only I'd stayed in this room last night! _he chastised himself. _How could I be so STUPID, to just go off with some stranger? If I'd only been smarter, I'd still have all my money AND I'd be on the coach to Paris right now! _He was getting more and more upset just thinking about how foolish he'd been and the predicament he'd put himself in.

But as upset and worried as he was, he forced himself to focus. _Stop it! _he told himself firmly. _Worrying isn't going to help. What's done is done. Now it's up to me to think of a way out of this mess!_

He opened his pack and spread all the items out on the bed. _Maybe if I sell everything I have, I can come up with the fare to Paris, _he thought hopefully.

There were all his clothes...but who would pay for someone else's used clothes? _Maybe some poor people who can't afford new ones...but then they wouldn't be able to pay much, _he had to admit.

His hunting knife was certainly worth something...and he might be able to get something for his heavy winter coat, although that would leave him shivering in the cold autumn air...the books, maybe? But no, they were well-read and worn, they wouldn't be worth much...

He added up what he thought he might get for each item. But even being as optimistic as he could as to the price they'd fetch, the total wasn't anywhere close to the cost of a fare to Paris.

Disappointed, he flopped down on the bed. _What am I going to DO? I have to find a way to get to Paris. I just HAVE to!_

_ o . - o . - o . - o . - o . - o . - o . - o . - o . - o . - o . - o . - o . - o . - o . -_

Belle and Gaston had been traveling by horseback for several hours. They rode in silence, lost in their own thoughts, determined to get past mile after mile as quickly as possible on their long journey to find their son.

At noon, they passed the sign for Saint-Pourcain-sur-Sioule. "Look!" Belle said excitedly. "That's the town where Georges stayed last night!"

Gaston nodded, perking up. "We're on the right track! We should catch up to him by 7:00 or 8:00 o'clock tonight."

With renewed energy, they rode on past the sign, continuing on the road toward the towns further on. Belle asked hesitantly, "Gaston...have you thought about what you'll say to Georges when we do catch up with him?"

Gaston shot a dark glance at her. "You mean, will I say something stupid that makes him run away again?"

"No, of course not!" Belle said, hurt.

Gaston sighed. "Sorry." He looked up at the sky. "To be honest, that's what I've been asking _myself," _he admitted. "I always thought I was a good father, but apparently everything I did with Georges was wrong." Noticing a branch overhanging the road ahead, he reached out and raised it out of Belle's way.

Belle smiled sympathetically at him as she rode under the branch. "You _are _a good father. You just need to listen more, and accept Georges for who he is."

"I guess," Gaston said reluctantly. That was easier said than done. "I just never thought I'd have to accept that a son of mine wishes he had _Hervé_ for a father instead of me!"

"Oh, Gaston! That's not what Georges wishes!" Belle tried to assure him. .

"Yes, it is! Didn't you read the note?" Gaston insisted. He scowled. "He said he HATES hunting with me, and he'll be 'miserable forever' if he has to live the way I do. And he ran away because Herve's the only one who _understands." _He spat out the last word. "Damn Hervé! That little weasel couldn't steal _you_ from me, so he's stealing my son instead!"

Belle sighed. Why did Gaston always have to see everything as a competition?

"And the worst part is, there's nothing I can DO about it!" Gaston went on, his frustration mounting. "All I tried to do was teach my son how to be a man. But he doesn't want any part of it. He says I make him miserable, I make him feel like I'm ashamed of him – everything I do is wrong. And like you said, he'll run away again if I keep trying." He gritted his teeth. "So now I'm supposed to just step aside while he looks up to _Hervé,_ and listens to everything Hervé has to say like it's the word of God." He shook his head angrily. "And what IS Hervé going to teach my son, anyway? To be a pale timid little coward who can't even fend for himself? To act superior and spout a lot of big words, and look down at ME and think I'm stupid -"

"Gaston! Georges isn't a coward! And he would _never _think you're stupid!" Belle protested. "How can you even _think_ that?"

"Because Hervé does! And Georges wants to be just like him!" Gaston said firmly.

"Gaston, this isn't ABOUT you or Hervé!" Belle said in exasperation. "Georges loves poetry and he's talented at it. That's all. You and I will _always_ be Georges' parents - that's never going to change! But as his parents, we need to support him in whatever makes him happy."

"I know, I know!" Gaston said. "Believe me, I _get _it now. I'm over a barrel: I_ have_ to give in, or else he'll just run off again." How he HATED this! It felt like he'd lost the battle for his son's respect and admiration, and Hervé had won. Gaston's instinct was always to keep on fighting till he got what he wanted, by any means necessary. But this time he had no choice: he had to surrender, or lose his son completely. It just wasn't fair.

He looked at Belle. "Don't worry. When we find Georges, I'll tell him he can write poetry or do whatever he wants – I won't stop him. And I won't make him hunt anymore, either. I'll just leave him alone and stay out of his way," he added bitterly. "I won't bother him at all. That should make him happy."

Belle hated to hear the bitterness in his voice. But after so many years of marriage, she knew it was just a cover for his hurt. _He thinks his son is rejecting him, _she thought sadly. _I just wish I could make him see how much Georges looks up to him and needs his approval_.

She was also worried about what Gaston had said: it sounded as though when Georges came home, Gaston would completely _ignore_ him, which she knew would make Georges feel even worse. He alreadybelieved his father was ashamed of him; this certainly wouldn't help matters.

_Well, at least he's agreed to let Georges write poetry, and he won't force him to hunt anymore, _she tried to reassure herself. _That's a start. Once Georges is back home, I'll have time to talk to them both and try to bring them together. _

She couldn't bear the alternative: that there might always be an unbridgeable chasm between father and son.

o . - o . - o . - o . - o . - o . - o . - o . - o . - o . - o . - o . - o . - o . - o . -

Later that afternoon, Georges was washing mugs for the innkeeper when he heard music outside. Curiously, he went to the door of the inn and looked out.

Outside was a bright red wagon festooned with a rainbow of colored ribbons. Blue letters on the side read _Les Jongleurs Extraordinaires._

In front of the wagon was a large, heavyset man of about 40, with red hair and a large handlebar mustache, wearing a red-and-white striped suit with a blue vest. He was strumming a lute and gaily singing,

"Bonjour, bonjour, come one and all,

To hear ballads sad and tales tall!

A juggler with feats that will surprise,

With magic right before your eyes!

A beauteous lass so fair and bright

Will twirl and dance for your delight!

So come, be quick, do not be slow,

For you'll be sorry to miss this show!"

Forgetting his problems, Georges ran out of the inn and darted to the front of the crowd that was already starting to form. He sat in front with the other children and watched eagerly.

"Welcome, welcome!" the man said at the end of the song. He continued strumming on the lute as he spoke. "I'm Hugues, and my family of merry entertainers and I are here to amuse and amaze you! We have entertained kings and courtiers, performed at royal courts throughout Europe! But when we saw the loveliness of your delightful town of…" He stumbled for just a moment on the name of the town. "…Saint-Pourcain-sur-Sioule, we knew we had to stop and give you wonderful people a show. The crowd cheered at hearing the name of their town.

Hugues gestured at the door of the wagon, saying, "This is Belda…" A plump blonde woman of about 40 came out of the wagon, banging a tambourine and encouraging the crowd to clap along with the rhythm. "And this is Léon." A slim, red-haired young man jumped down, playing on a flute.

"But there is another member of our company you have yet to meet," Hughes went on mysteriously. "And when you do, I promise you won't be able to take your eyes off her!" He grinned at the crowd. "We begin our show with the exotic and bewitching Amarinta!"

He and the other two began playing a tarantella. From behind the wagon, a young woman twirled into view, tossing her long blonde hair and dancing in a swirl of purple-and-blue skirts, gracefully gesturing with her bejeweled fingers. Her bare feet, adorned with golden ankle bracelets, kicked up the dust as she danced. She made eye contact with the men in the crowd, giving one or two a playful wink. The men roared appreciatively.

After Amarinta's dance, plump middle-aged Belda came forward and shook her head in mock exasperation. "Now I ask you: how on earth am I supposed to follow _that?"_ The crowd laughed as she sang a humorous song about an old maid seeking a man, comically attempting to mimic Amarinta's moves as the audience laughed harder.

Georges laughed too, forgetting all about his problems. The performers were so colorful and lively and exciting and funny! He cheered and applauded as Léon entertained the crowd with feats of juggling and magic. The troupe finished their show with a rousing sing-along, which the crowd was happy to join in on.

Then the performers went into the crowd with hats out, encouraging them to show their appreciation with coins.

Monsieur Marriott came over to them, beaming. "Fine show as always, Hugues," he said approvingly. The troubadours' performances always put his customers in a good mood, which made them spend more. "Where are you headed to next?"

"We're off to Paris," Hugues replied. "For the _Foire de'Automne."_

They continued chatting, but Georges didn't hear any more. That one word filled his mind: _Paris!_

_That's the answer! _he thought excitedly. _I've got to find a way to go with them!_

Then he paused, reconsidering. _What am I thinking? Last night I went off with a stranger and almost got killed! _he reminded himself. _Now I want to go off with MORE strangers? Is that really smart? _

He tried to weigh the pros and cons. _They travel around in their own wagon - I'd be totally alone with them. They could take me ANYWHERE and I wouldn't know where I was..._That thought was frightening.

_But...they're going to PARIS! _he argued with himself. _It's my only chance! And the innkeeper seems to know them, at least a little..._

Then another thought occurred to him. _It probably doesn't even matter, because they won't WANT me to come with them. I have no money, I can't pay them anything. So why should they help me?_

His thoughts went round and round as he anxiously tried to figure out what to do. Finally he decided to at least talk to Hugues and see what unfolded. The crowd had dispersed by now, and the big man was sitting at a table having a drink. Georges approached him shyly. "Sir?" he said tentatively. "I'm sorry to bother you. I just wanted to say that was a fantastic show!"

Hugues inclined his head in acknowledgment. "Why, thank you, young man. It's good to know that the younger generation has an appreciation for the arts."

"Yes, I do! And also...um...well...I was wondering..." Georges took a deep breath. "I heard you say you were going to Paris...Do you think maybe I could go with you?" he blurted out. "I could help out, do errands and things for you. I wouldn't be any trouble, I promise!"

To Georges' surprise, Hugues burst out laughing. "Ah, so you want to run away and be a performer, do you? Believe me, I've met many a young boy with a hankering to see the world." He chuckled and patted Georges on the head. "Take my advice, young man: stay home and be a good son and listen to your parents – that's what a boy your age should be doing. Plenty of time to see the world when you grow up."

Georges felt a stab of guilt at his words; he certainly was _not_ a good son who stayed home and obeyed his parents.

_But I've come so far – I just CAN'T turn back now!_ he told himself.

The fact that Hugues had dismissed the idea only strengthened Georges' resolve to come along. _After all, _he reasoned, _if he was a bad man, he'd be trying to convince me to come with him, like that robber last night._ Instead, Hugues was telling him to be a good boy and stay home and listen to his parents – that meant he _had_ to be a decent man.

But now Georges had the challenge of convincing _him. _The man had already turned away and had taken out a pipe, preparing for a smoke.

"Sir, please, you don't understand," Georges said, trying to get his attention again. "You see, I don't live in this town. I'm from a village far away from here. My parents were sending me to Paris to go to school. I was taking the coach, and we stopped in this town. But then I got robbed and all my money was stolen! Then I missed the coach when it left, and now I don't have any money for the next one."

Hugues smiled in amusement. "My word, that's some tall tale!" he said, almost admiringly. "You're quite the storyteller!"

Georges was frustrated that the man didn't believe him. Suddenly he had an idea. "Look, I can prove it!" He reached in his pocket and pulled out the letter from Hervé. "See?"

Still skeptical, Hugues took the letter and glanced at it. His eyebrows raised in astonishment when he saw the name of the prestigious Sorbonne. His curiosity aroused, he read it through. "Well, well! What do you know? Sounds like you're quite the talented poet, from what he says."

Georges nodded eagerly. "And see at the end? He told my parents I should go to school in Paris and he'll help." He pointed at the last paragraph of the letter. "So my parents saved up the money and sent me on the coach to Paris to meet him. They couldn't come themselves because my sister is sick." The lies he'd told the coachman and innkeeper flowed easily now.

Pushing down his guilt about over lying, he went on, "So I was traveling to Paris, and everything was fine, but then I got robbed yesterday, and all my money got stolen. Monsieur Marriott will tell you – he knows all about it."

"My word!" said Hugues in astonishment. "And this is all true? You're NOT pulling my leg?" He fingered his mustache thoughtfully. "Hang on a moment, young man."

He went to speak to the innkeeper. Georges could see them talking in low voices. He saw Hugues point at him, and Monsieur Marriott nodding and explaining. Georges waited anxiously, hoping.

Hugues returned, looking surprised. "Well...Monsieur Marriott says you're telling the truth."

"So will you let me come with you?" Georges asked eagerly.

"I don't know," Hugues said, considering. Indecisive, he waved his family over. Belda, Léon and Amarinta, who had been socializing with other patrons, came to the table.

"What is it, dear?" Belda asked.

Hugues told them Georges' story about the coach and getting robbed. "Monsieur Marriott says it's all true. So now the boy is stuck here in this town and doesn't know what to do. He asked if he could come to Paris with us. What do you all think?"

"Oh, the poor dear!" Belda said sympathetically. She looked at the others. "I say we take him with us. We can't just leave him stranded here, a child all alone. I'd feel terrible!"

"Sure, why not?" said Léon, leaning his lanky frame against the table. "There's plenty of room in the wagon." He grinned at Georges. "Get your stuff and I'll help you load it in."

"Really?" Georges said excitedly. "Wow! Thank you so much!"

It took only a few minutes to bring Georges' pack downstairs and hoist it into the brightly-colored wagon. Monsieur Marriott stood watching with mixed feelings. On the one hand, he was glad that Georges had a way to get to Paris after all, but on the other hand, he couldn't help feeling that the boy's parents deserved to know what was going on. "Are you sure I can't notify your folks, just to let them know what's happening and that you're all right?" he asked Georges.

Georges shook his head. "Don't worry – once I get to Paris, I'll write to them and tell them everything."

Monsieur Marriott sighed. _I've done all I can, _he told himself. He went over to Hugues, who was hitching up the horses. "Take good care of the boy, Hugues," he told the troubadour. "I feel a bit responsible for him."

"No worries, we'll get him to Paris safely," Hugues assured him. He climbed up onto the wagon and took the reins. "Everyone comfy back there? Then we're off!"

Inside, Georges looked out the window as the wagon rolled away. _I really did it! I convinced them! _he thought, proud of himself for finding a way out of his predicament. _I'm going to Paris after all! _

He noticed Belda smiling at him, and smiled back. _Riding with troubadours – why, it's almost like riding with gypsies! _he thought excitedly. _This really IS an adventure. I can't wait to write about it! _

o . - o . - o . - o . - o . - o . - o . - o . - o . - o . - o . - o . - o . - o . - o . - o . - o . - o . - o . -

Gaston and Belle arrived in Montlucon at 7:00. But to their disappointment, the coach hadn't arrived yet. They had dinner at the inn, watching out the window the whole time. After eating, they went back outside to wait.

Time passed as slowly as molasses, and they got more anxious with each passing second. "Where IS that damn coach?" Gaston said in frustration. He'd been pacing back and forth on the inn porch for the past hour, too restless to sit still. Now that they'd reached their destination, the only thing on his mind was getting his son back safely and bringing him home. Everything else could wait.

Belle didn't answer. She was equally anxious, but there was no point talking. There was nothing to say. Her eyes remained fixed on the road.

Each time a wagon pulled up, they rushed forward eagerly, but in every case it turned out to be a farmer, or a merchant, or a private coach owned by a wealthier citizen. Gaston was ready to explode from frustration and tension.

Finally the public coach pulled up slowly to the inn. Gaston and Belle exchanged relieved smiles, and Gaston squeezed Belle's hand reassuringly as they stepped forward.

_Oh, Georges! _Belle thought, her arms already curving in anticipation of hugging her dear, wayward boy tight and never, ever wanting to let go.

Gaston resisted the urge to spring forward and yank the door open, shoving the other passengers aside and calling his son's name. Instead he kept his eyes on the coach door, willing Georges to come out first.

The coachman descended with what seemed like agonizing slowness and opened the door, then climbed up to untie all the cases and satchels stored on top while the tired passengers poured out one by one.

Belle and Gaston watched eagerly, waiting for the first glimpse of their son. But as the last of the passengers disembarked, there was no sign of him. The coach was empty.

Belle looked at Gaston in dismay. "Where is he?" she asked, fear clutching her heart.

Gaston stepped forward to the coachman and asked urgently, "Monsieur, do you have a boy riding with you? Brown hair, brown eyes, 12 years old, looks a lot like me? He would have gotten on at Clermont-Ferrand."

"Oh! The boy!" The coachman gave them his full attention. _"_You his folks?"

Belle was overcome with relief. "Yes! YES! Please, where is he?"

The coachman shook his head sympathetically. "Hate to tell you, but I don't know."

Gaston stared at him incredulously. "You don't _know? _What do you mean, you don't know? _Where is my son?" _he demanded, resisting the urge to throttle the man.

"We stopped last night at Saint-Pourcain-sur-Sioule," the coachman explained. "We stayed at the inn overnight. I made it clear to all that we were leaving at 8:00 a.m. this morning. Morning came, it was 8:00, everyone else got on…but the boy didn't show up."

"So you left _without_ him?" Belle cried accusingly.

"Not right away!" the coachman said defensively. "We waited for half an hour! The passengers were getting restless. So I told the innkeeper to knock on his door. No answer. Then the innkeeper used his key to open the door. His bag was in the room, but there was no sign of the boy, and his bed hadn't been slept in." He shrugged. "Look, I'm real sorry. I know you folks must be worried. But I couldn't tarry any longer – I had a coach full of angry passengers and a schedule to keep. What else could I do?"

Belle stared at him, devastated. She sank down onto the bench. "Oh, Georges, where are you? My baby..." She began to sob. She didn't think she could bear any more. Her child was out there somewhere, lost, maybe hurt, maybe worse…_No, I can't think like that! _She tried to force herself to calm down, to think of a solution, but all she wanted to do was scream.

Gaston, equally panicked, instinctively lashed out at the bearer of bad news. He grabbed the coachman's collar and shouted angrily, "You _knew_ you had a child traveling with you, you _knew_ he was missing, but you just LEFT? How _could _you?" He shook the man like a rag doll and added threateningly, "I swear to you, if anything's happened to my son—"

"If anything's happened to him, it's _your _fault!" the coachman snapped, breaking free of Gaston's grasp and glaring at him. "Sending a young boy like that to Paris all on his own! What were you thinking?"

"We _didn't_ send him to Paris! He ran away from home!" Gaston retorted.

"Well, you should have been keeping track of him then!" the coachman snapped. "You're his parents. Looking after your son is _your _job!"

At that accusation, all the fight went out of Gaston. His shoulders sagged, and he sank down on the bench next to Belle. "You're right," he said quietly, and looked at Belle helplessly. "What are we going to do?"

Seeing the fear in Gaston's eyes frightened Belle worse than anything else so far. Her husband was always so fearless and so commanding, so certain of exactly what to do in any situation. If _he _was scared, what hope did they have?

The coachman looked sympathetically down at the two of them. "Look," he said more kindly, "why don't you go back to Saint-Pourcain-sur-Sioule and talk to the innkeeper there? He said he'd keep an eye out for the boy."

Belle wiped her eyes. "All right. I suppose that's our only hope." Her eyes searched Gaston's. "But...what if he's not there? What if we _never_ find him?"

"We'll find him. We _have_ to," Gaston reassured her.

But as they turned their tired horses back along the darkening road toward Saint-Pourcain-sur-Sioule, his thoughts were grim. _Georges' bag was still in his room, but he hadn't slept in the bed, and he didn't turn up the next morning for the coach_, he thought. It didn't look good.

Gaston wanted to be strong for Belle, but inside he was as terrified as she was. _What if the innkeeper says he never saw Georges after that? What if we search the whole town and can't find a trace of him?_ It occurred to Gaston that there was a very real possibility that they might never see their son again. His insides turned to ice at the thought.

On the other hand, what if they DID find Georges – and he'd met with foul play, or an accident? What if he was lying dead in a ditch somewhere? Gaston's imagination had never been his strong point, but now it was working overtime.

How was this possible? he wondered as they rode on in the darkness. He was _Gaston! _Things like this just didn't happen to him! Just a few days ago they'd all been a happy family – the _perfect _family, he had thought. The perfect life. But now he and Belle were facing every parents' worst nightmare.

_Who am I kidding? _he thought. _I know exactly how this happened. It was all there in his note. _

"It's my fault," he said quietly, the anguish in his voice palpable. "He ran away because of ME." There was no question about that. And now they might never see him again.

All the arguments about hunting, about poetry, about Hervé – suddenly it all seemed so petty and meaningless. If the worst had happened, then his son wouldn't be a hunter OR a poet – he wouldn't be _anything._ He would just be... gone_._ Forever. The thought was devastating.

_What was I THINKING? How could I be so stupid? _he berated himself. _Was making my son be a hunter so important that it was worth making him run away? And now God only knows what's happened to him... _

Suddenly he burst out, "I'll tell you one thing: if we do find him, he can do whatever he wants! He can sit in his room and write poems all day and all night, and I won't say a word, not one word. I swear it!"

Belle reached out to touch his hand, on the horse next to hers. But she didn't speak - there was nothing to say. Her stomach was tied up in knots of pure terror. It was all she could do just to hold herself together and keep from screaming and crying, let alone try to comfort anyone else.

She prayed fervently as they rode for endless hours through the night. _Please, I'll do anything! Take me instead, if you have to take someone! Just please, please, let my baby be all right!_

Tears filled her eyes as she remembered the last time she had seen Georges. _ W__hy did I let him take the day off school to go off on his own? He had a whole day to run away without us even KNOWING he was gone until he was too far away to get him back. The coachman was right – it IS our fault. Why didn't I keep an eye on him? _

Too many regrets. And they were all too late.


	33. Memories

_Author's Note: Thank you all so much for all the great suggestions for a title for the last chapter! I really appreciate it! In the end I was torn between "The Road Goes Ever On" (Serengeti Dawn's idea) and "On The Road Again" (Lady Mallard's idea). I liked those ideas because both Georges and his parents ended up back "on the road" at the end of that chapter, so it fit both storylines. What made it really hard to choose was that "On The Road Again" evokes the joy and adventure of traveling, which fit Georges' situation, but "The Road Goes Ever On" is about being weary after a long journey and wanting to go home, which fit Belle and Gaston. Tough call!_

_I finally chose "On The Road Again" because the lyrics of that song are specifically about being a traveling MUSICIAN, and even include the phrase "like a band of gypsies" (the very comparison Georges made in the chapter), so it seemed especially apt for Georges traveling with the family of troubadours. _

_Thanks again to all of you for your help! You rock! ::: passes around virtual chocolate chip cookies for everyone :::_

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"So, you're going to school in Paris?" Léon said conversationally as the wagon rolled along. He had a bag of grapes on his lap, and popped one into his mouth occasionally. He offered the bag to Georges.

"Yes, to study literature," Georges said, taking a grape. "I'm going to be a poet when I grow up." It felt so good to say it that way - not "I want to be a poet," but "I'm GOING to be a poet." He wasn't just sitting around passively wishing and hoping like he used to. No. He was seizing control of his destiny and going out to get what he wanted!

"That's grand!" Léon said approvingly. "It's a fine thing to know what you want at a young age. Amarinta and I did too."

"Oh, what did you want?" Georges asked, interested.

Léon laughed. _"This,_ of course!" he said, waving his hand around the wagon. "To travel around, seeing all the different cities and towns and countryside, camping out under the stars, performing for an audience every day – there's nothing like it in the world!"

Amarinta nodded in agreement. "But it wasn't easy convincing our parents," she said.

"Which was pretty hypocritical, if you ask me, since they'd done the same thing!" Léon added.

"Oh, you two!" Belda said mock-scoldingly, but she was smiling. "We were just trying to be good parents and give you a stable life! We did give in eventually, didn't we?"

Georges asked, "So how did you all start doing this? Traveling around and performing?"

Belda turned to Georges. "Well...it's a long story..."

"Tell it, Mother," Amarinta urged. "It's a wonderful story!"

"Oh, please tell it! I love stories!" Georges said hopefully

"All right, if you really want to hear it," Belda said agreeably, and began. "Hugues came from a family of entertainers. I was just a farmgirl in a small village. But twice a year, like clockwork, his family would show up in our village for the spring festival and the autumn harvest festival, and they would put on a show. I was entranced! They seemed so exciting, compared to our humdrum life on the farm. And Hugues...oh, he was so handsome and so charming!" She sighed happily at the memory. "He had his eye on me, too – he would always come over to talk to me after the show, and we'd walk around the festival together, looking at the displays and games and contests, and he'd always buy me some little trinket. He was so witty and funny and kind...I used to look forward to those shows every year, and to seeing him. I had a secret wish that he would take me away with him, and we'd have a wonderful adventure, traveling the country together." She trailed off with a reminiscent smile.

"So what happened?" Georges asked eagerly.

"Well, when I was 17, my parents were looking to marry me off. There was another farm family whose son was of marrying age, and his father asked mine about making a match. But I didn't want to marry him – he was so serious, hardly ever cracked a smile. Not like Hugues, with his laughing eyes and quick jokes. I confided in my mother, but she told me I was being foolish – a traveling performer was hardly a suitable husband. And after all, he hadn't even proposed to me, had he? She said that he likely had a pretty girl waiting for him in every town, and I was no more than a twice-a-year flirtation. How I cried that night!

"A month after that, it was time for the spring festival. Hugues kept trying to catch my eye during the performance, but I couldn't even look at him. I kept thinking of what my mother had said, that he was just trifling with me and had a girl in every town. After the show, he came over to talk to me, and asked me what was wrong. I told him I was getting engaged to be married. He looked heartbroken. Then he asked me, 'Do you love him?'

"'What an impertinent question!' I said, trying to keep my pride and dignity. 'What does it matter to you, anyway?'

"'BecauseI love _you,' _he said. Just straight out like that! 'And I've been hoping to marry you myself. So if you'll have me, I'll go talk to your father formally about it right now. But if you truly love this other man...then I'll leave you alone, though it will break my heart. I only want you to be happy ' Well, I melted at that, as you can imagine! So I told him how I felt, and he went to talk to my father."

"And your father said yes?" Georges asked.

Belda shook her head. "Oh, no, not at all! He hit the roof! He declared that no daughter of his was going to marry some shiftless vagabond. His daughter was going to marry a FARMER, and no two ways about it!" Belda clasped her hands together. "And Hugues...I couldn't believe it...he looked my father right in the eye and said, 'Then I'll become a farmer.' Just like that!"

"Wow, really?" Georges said, impressed.

Belda nodded. "My father was still very skeptical. But he said if Hugues was really serious, he could work on my father's farm for a whole year, and after that, we'd see if he still wanted to marry me. He didn't think Hugues would go through with it."

Georges was delighted. "It's like a fairy tale! He had to do an impossible task to win the hand of the princess!"

Belda laughed. "Well, I was hardly a _princess, _but thank you!" She went on, "Hugues told his parents about it, and they came to dinner with my parents to talk it over. They weren't keen on losing their son for a whole year, but Hugues insisted. In the end, it was settled. Hugues would stay and work on the farm, and the following year when his family came through our town, we'd see how it had turned out.

"I'm afraid it was a difficult year for Hugues," she continued. "The only manual labor he'd ever done before was feeding the family's horse, and fixing the wagon or one of the musical instruments when something broke. He wasn't used to getting up at dawn to feed a whole farm full of animals, and pushing a plow all day in the hot sun. And my father made sure to give him all the hardest jobs, too – he really didn't want me to marry Hugues, so he was trying to get him to give up. The other farmhands laughed at him at first, because he didn't know how to do anything, and he wasn't as strong and tough as they were. So it was a very difficult life for him.

"But after dinner he and I would sit on the porch together and talk, or walk by the lake under the stars, and he always said that made everything worth it. Six months later, when his family came to town for the autumn harvest festival, they asked him if he wanted to quit and rejoin them, but he said no. He was determined to see it through and honor his commitment.

"And slowly, over the course of the year, he began to win everyone over. My father was impressed that he stuck out the whole year, and always worked hard and did his best, and never complained. And the farmhands began to like him too, because they also saw he was working hard, and after work he'd bring out his guitar and entertain them with songs and jokes and stories.

"So after the full year was up, Hugues' family returned. My father asked Hugues if he still wanted to marry me, after all he'd been through. Hugues said he did. He admitted that he did miss his old life of performing, because it's what he's best at, and more than anything, he'd love to take me with him and show me the world. But if the only way he could marry me was to stay on the farm, then that's what he'd do. So my father gave his consent, and we got married.

"Afterward, my father said that Hugues had proven himself to be a decent hardworking man, and that as a married couple, it was up to us where we wanted to live. So Hugues looked me in the eye and asked if I wanted us to live on the farm, or go traveling with his family. Of course, I was _dying _to go traveling, and said so! So that's what we did. His family taught me how to dance and sing, and I became part of the act. And every year, we would visit my family on the farm. My brother and his family took it over when my father got too old to work."

Léon prompted, "And then you had us, and decided to be_ boring_ again!"

Belda smiled. "Yes. Once we had children, we didn't think it was fair to drag them all over the country. So we settled in a town – a big prosperous town, not like the tiny farm village where I grew up. There were wealthy merchants, lawyers, schoolteachers and the like. Hugues gave their children music lessons, and I gave dance lessons. We taught Léon and Amarinta how to dance and sing and play, too, and at every festival or holiday celebration, we'd perform as a family."

"We enjoyed performing so much," Amarinta put in. "It was such fun! And they would tell us stories about their lives traveling around the country – it sounded marvelous! So Léon and I started pestering them to take up that life again, so we could do it too."

"Yes," Belda said. "Hugues and I weren't sure about it – we still thought it would be too hard a life for a child. But they kept on begging us, year after year. So finally, when Léon was 15 and Amarinta was 13, Hugues bought a wagon and painted it, and I sewed some costumes, and we set off for a year of traveling and performing with the children, thinking that would satisfy their curiosity and get it out of their system."

"But we loved it!" Léon said. "After the year was over, we didn't want to stop! So we kept going, and we've been doing it ever since."

"Well, not year-round," Belda corrected. "During the winter, the weather is too unpredictable to travel. So we return to our town, and spend the winter months catching up with our friends and neighbors, and repairing our instruments and costumes. Then in the spring, we set out again."

"That's such a great story!" Georges said happily. "That's what I'm doing too – following my dream."

Belda patted him on the head. "Good for you. I'm sure you'll be a fine poet someday, and then we can say we helped get you started!"

It was starting to get dark out. George yawned. Seeing this, Belda gave him a pillow and tucked a blanket around him, saying, "We'll be stopping for the night in a few hours, but in the meantime you can take a little nap if you like." Georges nodded and soon dozed off.

He awoke a few hours later, and was momentarily disoriented before remembering where he was. Glancing around, he saw Belda, Amarinta and Léon dozing in their seats too.

He looked out the window. It was nighttime now, but the full moon cast its light on the road. Not that there was much to see: just the road itself, the trees on either side, and up ahead in the distance, two figures on horseback, riding in the opposite direction, toward the wagon.

Georges idly watched the figures on horseback. Then, as they got closer, he saw their faces and froze in shock. They were his parents!

Georges jerked back from the window in a panic, his heart pounding. But a few moments later, he couldn't help himself, and peeked out again. His parents were riding next to the wagon now. His father looked grim, as if he'd just gotten terrible news. His mother looked as though she'd been crying. Neither one looked up at the wagon as they passed. In a moment, they were gone, and the road was empty once more.

Georges sat back in his seat, his heart still thudding. That had been close! What were his parents doing all the way out here, so many miles from home?

_They're looking for ME, _he realized, and a wave of guilt crashed over him. He had been gone for two whole days now. Had they been searching for him all that time? They must have been. Georges felt awful, thinking of his parents out there in the dark so far from home, searching for him for days on end. _They looked so upset!_ _They must be really worried about me, _he thought remorsefully. _And that means Alain and Mimi and Lili are home alone, and they must be worried too._

He was filled with shame. _How could I do this to people I love? How could I be so selfish? Maybe I should go back... _

But he recoiled at the thought of returning home now, without accomplishing anything, a failure. He just couldn't bear it. The whole journey would be meaningless then - his family's suffering would have been all for nothing! _I've GOT to become a poet, so they can see why I did it! _he argued with himself. But that would take years. Would his family be worrying about him all that time? He couldn't do that to them! His tormented thoughts went round and round, tying him in knots.

Then he realized something: his parents had been riding in the OPPOSITE direction from Paris. Did that mean they had given up looking for him and were going home? The idea filled him with conflicted feelings. He _wanted _them to stop looking for him, so he wouldn't have to feel guilty...but the thought of his family going on with their lives, as though he didn't exist, gave him a sharp pang. _What am I going to do? _

It was ironic: he hadn't wanted his parents to see him as they rode by...but now he fervently wished his mother could somehow be here with him right at this moment. More than anything, he wanted her to hold him and reassure him that everything would be all right. He missed her so much! He missed ALL of them – smart, practical Alain, who always knew just what to do; fun-loving Mimi and sweet little Lili; and yes, his father too. Before all this had happened, before the truth had come out, his father had always had time for Georges, had spent long afternoons teaching him archery and shooting and wrestling, had frequently ruffled his hair and called him "son", and even said he was proud of him when he shot a target.

_Maybe I shouldn't have said anything, _Georges thought miserably, tears filling his eyes. _Maybe this was all a big mistake. Everyone would have been happier if I'd just kept my mouth shut! I've ruined everything._

Nearby, Belda stirred and stretched. Seeing Georges, she sat up straight. "Georges, dear, what's wrong?" she asked in concern. "You look so upset! What's happened?"

Georges wiped his eyes. "Nothing. It's silly. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bother you."

"Nonsense, you're not bothering me at all," Belda assured him. "Please, tell me what's wrong."

"It's nothing, really. I just miss my family," Georges said in a small voice.

Belda clucked her tongue sympathetically. "Poor dear! That's not 'nothing'. It's only natural – a child like you so far from home! Come here." She patted the seat by her side. Hesitantly, Georges went to sit next to her. She put her arm around him in a motherly way, gently pulling him close so he was leaning against her, and said, "Nighttime can be a lonely time. Close your eyes. I'll sing you a song I used to sing to Léon and Amarinta when they were small." Obediently, he closed his eyes.

She began to sing,

"Sleep, my baby, close to Mama,  
Hush-a-bye, my dear!  
While I rock your little cradle,  
In the moonlight oh, so clear.  
Songs I'll sing and tales I'll tell you,  
That I know you love to hear;  
Close your eyes, like the blue of heaven,  
Hush-a-baby-bye, my dear."

It was a babyish song, but Georges was grateful to her. At that moment, when he was so troubled and wracked with confusion and guilt and homesickness, it just felt so comforting to close his eyes and have someone mother him, even for a moment. He pretended that he was safe at home and it was his own mother singing to him. Gradually he began to feel a little calmer, his thoughts clearer.

_As soon as I get to Paris and get settled in with Professor Liseur, I'll write to Mama and Papa right away and tell them how very, very sorry I am that I made them worry, _he told himself_. And I'll tell them I'm safe and healthy, and that I have a responsible adult taking care of me, and I'll write to them every month, so they won't worry about me. _

Then he brightened as another thought struck him. _Oh! I know! Professor Liseur will know what to do! Maybe HE can even write to them and explain everything so they'll let me stay! He' s a grown-up, after all, and he's so smart – he'll know all the right things to say! _That made him feel a lot better. Once Professor Liseur wrote to his parents, of course they would understand! It would all work out.

He sat up. Belda smiled. "Better?"

"Yes, thanks," Georges said, now feeling embarrassed that he'd been so childish, letting her sing a lullaby to him like he was a baby. He was glad Léon and Amarinta were still dozing and hadn't seen him acting that way, and that Hugues was still outside driving the wagon.

"We should be stopping for the night soon," Belda told him. "We're near Montlucon."

Montlucon! That was where the coach was scheduled to stop tonight, Georges remembered. "Are we staying at the inn there?" he asked uneasily. Before seeing his parents on the road, he would have rejoiced at the chance to catch up with the coach. But if his parents had been looking for him in Montlucon, they might have asked questions about him at the inn. Georges needed to keep a low profile.

"No, I'm afraid not," Belda said apologetically, to his relief. "With all the traveling we do, we can't afford an inn every night – it would cost a fortune. We only stay at inns once a month or so. This month we're holding off till we get to Paris. Tonight we're just camping out. I hope you don't mind."

"No, of course not. It's so nice of you to take me with you at all!" Georges assured her. "Besides, I like camping out."

"Good! I'm glad to hear it," Belda said.

Soon Hugues drove the wagon off the main road into a clearing in the woods, and everyone got out and began making preparations for the camp. Georges stood awkwardly for a while, feeling useless. Wanting to help, he went over to Hugues and offered, "Do you want me to start a campfire?"

"Do you know how to do that?" Hugues asked in surprise. Georges nodded. "Well, certainly, then, go ahead! That will be a big help."

Léon was chopping wood for the fire, so Georges went over to him and said, "I'm going to make the fire. Hugues said it was okay. Just bring the wood over to me when you're done."

Léon nodded. "Okay, if you say so. One less thing for me to do!" .

Georges searched around the forest for some good-sized stones, which he brought back and arranged in a circle to make a fire pit. He asked Belda for a broom, and cleared all the pine needles and leaves away from the area around the fire pit, sweeping them into a pile. Then he took some of the pine needles and leaves and spread them inside the fire bed. On top of that he put a crisscrossing of small twigs and branches that would catch fire easily.

Léon had finished chopping the wood. He stacked it next to Georges' fire pit, and sat down on a log nearby, watching with interest to see what Georges would do.

Georges found a thin flexible green branch and attached a string to it to make a rudimentary bow. He sharpened the end of another stick to a point, then found a flat piece of wood and used his knife to make a small hole in it. He took his items inside the stone circle, fitted the sharpened stick into the hole in the flat board, and rubbed the bow string against it back and forth. It took a while, but eventually he got a spark, which he fanned into a flame and used to get the sticks and pine needles burning. Then he stood outside the fire pit and carefully fed larger sticks and pieces of firewood to the fire until it was blazing steadily.

A round of applause startled him. He turned around to see Hugues and his family clapping. "Well done, boy!" Hugues said in admiration. "And you're only 12? I never would have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes!"

"You're a pretty clever kid!" Léon agreed in admiration.

"Thanks," Georges said shyly, pleased. "My father taught me how to do it. He always said a man has to know how to survive out in the wild. He was always taking my brother and me out into the woods and teaching us stuff like that."

Belda and Amarinta had brought out some pots and pans, and now they began to cook a stew and some beans over the fire.

As he sat and ate, Georges stared into the fire, remembering past camping trips with his father and Alain. They would sit around the fire just like this, talking and joking and telling stories. His father would tell them about all his exciting adventures, and Georges would sometimes retell a ghost story or a tall tale he'd read in a book, or even sometimes make up his own. His father would always listen appreciatively – although he didn't like poetry, he always enjoyed hearing a good adventure yarn, or a spine-tingling ghost story, or a funny tall tale.

Georges felt sad, remembering those times. Lately, the constant pressure and conflict about hunting had colored his feelings about his father. But now, away from home, he remembered all the good times they'd had, too. It hadn't always been stress and pressure and his parents fighting over him.

Léon was strumming a guitar, playing a lovely but melancholy tune, a sad melody of longing and regret that seemed to match Georges' mood perfectly. "What song is that?" Georges asked him.

"This? Oh, it's just something I've been fooling around with," Léon said. "I haven't got any words for it yet."

"It's pretty," Georges told him.

It was close to midnight now, so Hugues passed out bedrolls and blankets, and they all settled down around the fire. Georges lay awake for a long time, looking up at the stars, thinking and remembering.

0- 0- 0- 0- 0- 0- 0- 0- 0- 0- 0- 0- 0- 0- 0- 0- 0- 0- 0- 0- 0- 0- 0- 0- 0- 0- 0- 0- 0- 0- 0- 0- 0-

Belle felt like she was in a nightmare. The road back to Saint-Pourcain-sur-Sioule seemed endless. They rode through the darkness for hour after hour, mile after mile, until Belle felt that they would never reach their destination, but just continue on that empty road forever, her soul eternally crying out in anguish and terror over her missing child.

They hadn't slept in more than 24 hours, and in her exhaustion, Belle sometimes fell into a half-doze, dreaming that the darkness around them was a malevolent force threatening to swallow up her and her family. Then the horse would hit a rough patch of road that jolted her awake, or she would start to lose her balance and be awakened by the sensation of falling, catching herself at the last second...only to find that the road was still winding ahead of them, looking exactly as it had hours ago, as though they hadn't moved an inch. _The seventh circle_ _of Dante's hell couldn't be any worse than this,_ she thought.

Eventually the sky began to lighten, and the sun rose. Still they rode on and on, as the sky turned blue, the birds began to chirp, and the world came to life around them. Finally, they saw the sign for Saint-Pourcain-sur-Sioule. Gaston cleared his throat. "This is it," he said. They directed their tired horses off the main road and into the town.

It was 8:00 in the morning by now, and people were going about their daily work. Gaston and Belle rode to the inn, dismounted, and tied their horses to the hitching post outside.

Gaston started to walk up the steps to the inn. But Belle found herself hanging back, unwilling to move. She was desperate to know what had happened to her child...but at the same time, she was terrified to find out. Right now, within all this awful uncertainty, there was still hope. But once they entered those doors, what they discovered might shatter her world forever. .

On the top step, Gaston turned, confused to see that she hadn't followed him. "What's wrong?"

She looked up at him. "I'm scared," she said in a small voice.

Gaston was down the steps and at her side in an instant. He took her hands in his, and his warm, strong grip was reassuring. He was holding on to her, giving her strength. He wouldn't let her fall. Looking steadily into her eyes, he said, "Belle, Georges needs us. We _have_ to know. Whatever's happened..." His voice broke slightly on that, but he pressed on firmly..."we'll face it together. Come on."

She nodded, and hand in hand, they went up the steps to the inn.

Inside, they approached the counter, where the proprietor was writing something in a ledger. He looked up and smiled pleasantly. "May I help you?"

Belle's throat was dry, and her heart was pounding. She couldn't seem to form the words.

Gaston spoke up. "We're looking for our son. He's 12 years old, with brown hair and brown eyes. He was on the coach to Paris-"

"Oh!" the innkeeper interrupted. "You're Georges' parents!"

"Yes," Belle said, feeling faint. "Do...do you know where he is? Is he safe?" Unconsciously, she held her breath. The fate of the whole world seemed to hang on the next moment.

The innkeeper nodded enthusiastically. "Oh, yes, he's fine!" he assured them.

Belle almost cried from sheer relief. _Thank you, God, thank you thank you thank you thank you... _She would never complain about anything again, ever in her whole life!

She saw Gaston close his eyes and let out a breath. He seemed unable to speak for a moment. Then he said quietly, "Thank you."

"Where is he? Upstairs?" Belle said joyfully. She couldn't believe it was finally over! She was literally weak with relief.

"No, he's not here," the innkeeper said.

Belle stared at him. "What do you mean? Where is he?"

The innkeeper came out from behind the counter. "Please, come sit down, and I'll tell you everything." Gaston and Belle impatiently sat down at a table. "Josette," the innkeeper called to a servant, "bring us some tea and sandwiches." To Gaston and Belle, he said, "You must have traveled a long way. I'm sure you're hungry. I'm Monsieur Marriott, by the way."

Belle wanted to kill him. The last thing she cared about was food right now. She could understand now why Gaston had been shaking people and yelling at them during their long search. She was normally a very patient woman, but she couldn't bear the suspense for one more second. "Please, please, monsieur, tell us where Georges is!" she begged.

"Of course," said Monsieur Marriott, sitting down. "He's on his way to Paris. He had a few mishaps, but everything is fine now. Don't worry."

"Paris?" Gaston said in confusion. "But the coachman told us he missed the coach."

"Yes. But fortunately, a band of troubadours came to town yesterday to put on a show. They were on their way to Paris, and they very kindly agreed to take Georges with them. So it all worked out."

"_Troubadours?" _Gaston said in disbelief. "You let my son go off with a bunch of _strangers?"_

"They're good people," Monsieur Marriott assured him. "I've known Hugues for years. They'll get Georges to Paris safely. Please don't worry, Monsieur Liseur."

Gaston looked sharply at him. "My name isn't Liseur!"

"Oh?" Monsieur Marriott said in confusion. "My apologies! He signed his name Georges Liseur. I just assumed you had the same surname."

Gaston closed his eyes. "His name isn't Georges Liseur," he said, sounding pained. "It's Avenant, same as mine. Georges Avenant."

Belle knew exactly what he was thinking, and her heart went out to him. He already believed that Georges wished Hervé were his father – this only seemed to confirm it. But they could talk about that later. She turned to Monsieur Marriott. "Georges ran away from home," she explained. "We've been searching for him for two days."

The innkeeper looked stricken. "Oh, my! I had no idea!" he said, shocked. "I'm so sorry! If I'd known, I never would have let him go off with Hugues and his troupe! When he missed the coach, I _wanted_ to send word to you right then and there. But Georges begged me not to. He said that you had spent your entire life savings to send him to Paris so he could go to school there, and he didn't want to disappoint you. So when Hugues said his family was headed to Paris and offered to take Georges along, it seemed like the perfect solution." He hung his head. "I feel terrible now. I was only trying to help the lad!"

"I understand," Belle assured him. "Please don't blame yourself. It was very kind of you to try to help him. But monsieur...why _did _Georges miss the coach? What happened? Do you know?"

Monsieur Marriott hesitated. "He had a...a mishap," he said carefully. "But he's fine now. Nothing to be concerned about."

Gaston's eyes narrowed. "A mishap? What kindof mishap?"

The innkeeper sighed. "I hate to upset you any more than you already are. But, well...the truth is that he was robbed."

"_Robbed?"_ Belle gasped in horror.

The innkeeper nodded. "Some scoundrel lured him away from the inn and took him to another part of town, then robbed him. A terrible thing. The poor child lost everything! But it could have been much worse. Apparently this man...well...I'm afraid he threatened violence. But Georges was able to escape from him," he added quickly. "He spent the night hiding in an abandoned building. In the morning, he managed to find his way back here to the inn, but by then the coach had already left."

Belle felt faint. "Oh, Georges..." she murmured. To think her baby had been through such a terrifying ordeal!

"But it's all fine now!" Monsieur Marriott repeated. "He's safe and on his way to Paris. So you can just go there and meet up with him at his uncle's house, the professor."

Belle and Gaston didn't bother to correct that misconception. They'd heard enough. "All right," Gaston said decisively. "Then that's what we'll do." He looked at Belle. "But first we need to send word to your father and Alain to let them know what's happening. And then we should get some rest before setting out again. You look like you're about to collapse from exhaustion."

"I'm fine," Belle protested. But it wasn't true. The combination of going more than 24 hours without sleep, riding on horseback the entire night, and being worried sick about her son had gotten to her – she could barely sit up straight. She knew Gaston was equally exhausted, although his pride would never allow him to admit it. "Maybe you're right," she conceded.

Monsieur Marriott went behind the counter and handed Gaston some paper. "Here. Write whatever message you want, and the address, and I'll send a messenger wherever you need it to go." Gaston automatically passed the paper over to Belle. Writing was always her job, not his. Monsieur Marriott then put a key on the counter. "When you're done, here's the key to room six, right upstairs. Stay as long as you like, no charge. I'm very sorry that I mistakenly sent Georges farther away from you."

"It's not your fault," Belle said. "But thank you for the room. It's very k ind of you." She wrote a letter to Maurice and Alain, added a comforting note at the end for Mimi and Lili, folded the paper, and wrote the directions to Molyneaux. Then she and Gaston went upstairs and collapsed on the bed.

"Thank God he's all right," Gaston said.

Belle nodded. Just to know her son was safe was all she needed right now. Tomorrow they would start their journey to Paris to finally get him back. But for now...The thought was left uncompleted as she sank into oblivion.

.


End file.
